


A Chance Encounter

by nekochan014



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dragons, F/M, Fantasy, Magic, Romance, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-25 16:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 47,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3816877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekochan014/pseuds/nekochan014
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whether it was coincidence or the gods conspiring, circumstances seem to bring Vilkas and a certain Bosmer mage together. Slightly AU. This will not directly follow the game’s story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> (I tried my hand in writing a Skyrim fic. This was actually written a year ago but I wasn’t able to finish it due to… unfortunate events. Now, I’ve started working on this again. Hopefully, said unfortunate event won’t happen again.)

Vilkas wasn't entirely sure where he was. It was definitely not in Jorrvaskr – or anywhere in Whiterun – judging by the rough foreign bedroll he was lying on. His sharp senses picked up the scent of various herbs. _Alchemist's shop_ , he presumed.

But then as the frostfall wind blew through the glassless window, his nose caught the smell of rich earth and musk of deers and other docile animals passing by. Confused, he bolted up, only to feel the ache on every part of his body. Groaning, he instinctively cradled his ribs that he suddenly realizedhad been bandaged. He checked his arms and legs, all in that same condition.

 _How badly_ _was_ _I_ _injured_ _?_ He shut his eyes, trying to recall the last thing that happened before everything went black. He remembered taking a job Aela offered. It was a simple task of clearing out a bear-infested cave southwest of Ivarstead. He had accomplished this on his own for a couple of times already that he thought it pointless to bring a shield-sibling. However, as he neared his destination, three arrows pierced his left arm. He hissed in pain as another followed hitting his right leg. Bandits then swarmed in and ambushed him – those who, now that he thought about it, were too well-armed to be the common riffraff roaming around The Rift. He cursed himself. How could he be so careless!?

His attention then shifted to the tapping sound of leather boots making their way towards his occupied room. Thanks to his werewolf blood, he could perfectly see the three figure that stood just outside the doorway in the dimly lit room; a Dunmer and a Khajiit, both wearing robes from the College of Winterhold, and a Bosmer, judging by her sharp jaw, tanned skin and considerably petite figure under the fur armor. He couldn't see her feature's details however, due to the hood covering most of the upper half of her face. He did catch a glimpse of her deep vivid green eyes.

“Oh good, you're awake,” the Bosmer said with a soft smile, passing between her two companions as she made her way to the Nord's bedroll. Her movements halted though when the latter backed away like a cornered prey. “Calm down. We're not here to hurt you.”

“Rather unconvincing when you're armed to the teeth,” Vilkas replied as his grey eyes flickered towards the bow on her back then the daggers strapped on her belt. He heard her sigh before she unslung her bow. It made his entire body even more tense as his sharp gaze were now focused entirely on her. Was she going to kill him now? If so, then he should quickly find a way to counter her. With his larger build, he has the upper hand. He could take her down before she could aim an arrow, then take her daggers so as to deal with the other two.

He was ready to pounce but the Bosmer suddenly threw her bow, quiver and daggers in front of him. From staring at the weapons, he glanced up to find both of her hands raised up. All he could respond to that was looking at her with a mouth slightly gaping.

“Are you sure that's wise?” the Dunmer voiced out her protests, her eyes shifting back and forth from the discarded weapons to her female companion.

“J'zargo thinks someone lost a piece of common sense,” the Khajiit added, grinning slightly as he crossed his arms while leaning against the door frame. “A very large piece. Would you like this one to find them?” This earned him a sharp glare from his Wood Elf companion which just made his grin grew wider.

The Bosmer shook her head before turning back to the Nord whose focus was now on the weapons – specifically the daggers. When he picked one up, she became cautious. Perhaps her feline friend was right and it was indeed an insane idea. But the dark-haired man merely examined it with knitted brows. After a minute of awkward silence, he finally asked, “where did this come from?”

“From the bandits who attacked you.” She shrugged. “Seemed like a waste to just leave a perfectly good silver dagger on their rotting corpses. Besides, my old ones were getting dull and rusty.”

Vilkas' brows furrowed. _So, the Silver-Hand_ _were the ones who_ _ambushed me_ , he thought with a scowl; though it was rather curious as to how they knew where he was. _The job must have been a setup..._ He took a mental note to ask Aela who her contact was for this job once he returns to Whiterun.

He left his thoughts for now and eyed the Bosmer who knelt down beside him with her hands emitting a light blue glow. _Magic_. Immediately, he moved away despite his aching limbs.

“Relax, you'll heal a lot faster with this,” she said but still he remained reluctant.

"This one could just knock him out," J'zargo suggested, magic beginning to crackle on his hands.

Vilkas snarled, steely eyes glaring at the Khajiit. "I'd like to see you try."

"Goading him isn't helping," the Dunmer whispered to her fellow mage.

"So does just standing here," J'zargo retorted. He then turned to the Wood Elf. "J'zargo did not come along just to help every unfortunate traveller we meet on the road."

The Bosmer marched towards him until she was only a few inches away. Despite her smaller build, she stood straight while holding his defiant gaze with equal intensity. "You came along because Tolfdir gave a _specific order_ that you and Brelyna accompany me to Geimund's Hall. If you have problems with that arrangement, then run back to the College and send Tolfdir your complaints." For a moment, the two glared at each other, the Nord on the bedroll completely forgotten. After a minute or so, the Khajiit finally gave in, muttering a curse in his language as he stepped outside.

"Brelyna, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid," she told the Dunmer who nodded and immediately followed J'zargo.

Sighing, the Bosmer turned her attention to the Nord. “Look, I've discarded my weapons to show you we mean you no harm. What other proof do you want?"

"Convenient you showed up during the ambush," Vilkas said as his eyes narrowed. "What were you doing there in the first place?"

"We were passing by when we saw your unconscious body and the bandits," the Bosmer replied.

"To loot valuables from my body," he accused.

"I do not take things from those that aren't my kill," she answered defensively. "Besides, you were still alive – though barely – so taking them would be stealing."

He still eyed her dubiously. "And I suppose helping random strangers is something you normally do?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Every few days or so, yes. Skyrim doesn't seem to run out of problems." Crossing her arms, she added, "look, I know you Nords have problems with magic so I won't force the matter. It will, however, take you a few more days to walk properly and a week to wield your blade without healing magic. So, your choice whether to be stranded here for more than a week or to trust magic, at least for now."

Vilkas' lips pressed tightly as he silently damned the Wood Elf for making a fair point. "Fine," he grumbled, settling back to his previous position. His sharp steely eyes, however, remained watchful of her every movement.

Taking a deep breath, the Bosmer began chantingwhile her glowing hands hovered all over him. The tingling sensation was comforting as the spell relaxed every tensed muscles in his body. He didn't even notice that he had closed his eyes until she stated, "done." Through half-dazed eyes, he saw her figure stand up and exited the room..

 

~oOo~

 

Sunlight from the glassless window had woken up Vilkas as it brushed against his cheek. Groaning softly, he began to stir before slowly sitting up. _By the Gods, when was the last time I slept so soundly!?_ He shook his head then, as the grogginess left his system, everything that happened last night returned in full force. Not even bothering to put some trousers on, he bolted out of bed and ran out.

Outside the hut, a gentle breeze greeted him accompanied by the sound of a startled horse nearby. Aside from that, however, there was no one else around. Grey eyes scanned the area, seeing from the distance the cave was _supposedly_ infested with bears. He was still in the Rift then. He let out a deep sigh. At least, he knew where he was.

His gaze drifted to the horse that had finally calmed down. On its saddle was a parchment pinned by an arrow. Curious, he took it and read its contents.

_Dear stranger,_

_While I don't normally leave injured men or mer until they have fully recovered, my comrades and I are in a hurry. However, I left a few potent health potions that can hasten your recovery, should you still be feeling unwell. They are inside the satchel beside your sword and armor._

_Fair warning though; it tastes like skeever piss. Drink it with water in hand lest you end up spitting it out instead._

_Praying for your safe travel,_

_D.B._

_P.S. The horse is all yours. She's not too high maintenance, so you need not worry._

Vilkas brows furrowed. _D.B.? Who in Ysmir's beard is D.B.?_ He sighed and went back inside. Whoever it was, it didn't matter. He was never going to meet her again.

Returning inside, he proceeded with redressing before examining the said satchel. It did indeed contain vials filled with some red liquid. He didn't trust its contents however so he just placed it back. Besides, he felt well enough already, so why bother? Once outside, he mounted the horse, pulling its rein to guide her to a road leading to Whiterun.

**END OF PROLOGUE**

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Months had passed since the ambush. When Vilkas returned and reported what had happened – minus the part where a group of mages saved him – Aela immediately ran off and hunted down her traitorous contact. Unfortunately, by the time the Companions found said contact, his corpse had already been rotting. The trail ended there, much to everyone's dismay.

And that fact plagued his mind even now as he returned to Whiterun without any unexpected encounter from the Silver Hand; they did not attempt another ambush on any member of the Companions. Vilkas wondered if the corpses of the men who failed to kill him had frightened the rest of the Silver Hands enough to finally consider the Companions as someone they shouldn't cross; or, Ysmir forbid, they could be biding their time until he and the others fell under a sense of complacency. Such plan did not sit well on him.

As he climbed up the stairs leading to the Wind District, he found his twin, accompanied by a large number of the Jarl's guards, briskly passing by the Gildergreen from Jorrvaskr. "Farkas!" He stopped in front of his brother. "What's going on?" His brow arched then shifted his gaze to one of the armored men behind his twin. What's _with the guards? Is Farkas in trouble?_ He could think possible scenarios if that was the case, mostly involving a lot of ale.

"Vilkas." Farkas greeted with a small nod. "Just in time. The Jarl asked for help."

"For what?"

"Patrol spotted two dragons attacking Rorikstead," one of the men — the captain of the guards from what Vilkas could recall — answered.

Vilkas cursed under his breath. Even if they hurry now, could they make it in time? "How many of your men are posted there?"

"Only a handful," the captain replied.

"Captain!" Everyone turned towards a shouting guard who nearly stumbled as his feet reached the last step. "The dragon! It's heading this way!"

"Dammit," the captain muttered then ordered the other guards. "Men, head to the gates." As the guards headed to the gates, he returned his gaze back to the two Companions.

Vilkas understood and nodded. "We'll meet you outside." As soon as the captain left, he asked his brother. "Where are the others?"

"Left two days ago. Aela took the new bloods on a hunt. Skjor went somewhere in Eastmarch, something 'bout dealing with bandits," Farkas replied as they marched towards the gate.

Vilkas' jaws clenched. _Of all the time for everyone to be out..._

Just as the brothers stepped out of the city gate, they heard the sound of hooves galloping as the horses attached to a carriage suddenly skidded to a stop. Pulling the horse's reins was a hooded petite woman. Beside her sat a dark-haired Imperial in mage garbs.

The guards straightened as the woman jumped off the carriage. "Take them inside, quickly. And find them a healer," she ordered, her head jerking towards the passengers at the back – some with minor wounds while others were gravely injured.

"Yes, Thane." Some of the guards helped the injured off the carriage, carrying some of those whose legs were badly injured.

Vilkas watched her while she spoke to the guard captain. With his heightened senses, he overheard her explain, "...managed to kill one but some of the guards died. The rest held back the other to buy us some time."

 _Haven't I've seen her before?_ Vilkas thought.

Before he could ponder on it further, one of the archers shouted, "dragon!"

"Archers get ready!" The guard captain barked. "The rest of you, with me!"

Vilkas was about to follow but halted when he met her bright green eyes looking straight at him — the only thing he remembered about his unexpected savior. "You."

The Bosmer's eyes widened; before she could utter a word though, a loud fearsome roar echoed in the sky. "Dammit," she muttered, staring up briefly and caught the silhouette of the dragon as it flew towards them. She turned and followed the guards with her Imperial comrade in tow.

"Vilkas." Farkas rested a hand on his brother's shoulder, snapping the latter out from his thoughts.

Vilkas nodded. "Aye." Any reunion would have to wait till later.

Unsheathing their greatswords, the twins joined the rest of the guards; their narrowed eyes watched the dragon's approach. Archers aimed their arrows up to the sky.

The Bosmer stood in front of them. "Wait for that man's signal before firing at it." Her finger pointed towards the Imperial mage.

The Captain's brows furrowed but nodded.

Meanwhile, as the elf approached the dragon with not even a single weapon, the twins just stared back and forth from her to the the Imperial who began rolling his shoulders. "Mage, what's she doing!?" Vilkas protested. "Wrestle that thing with her bare hands!?"

The Imperial chortled. "Well, there's an image." Widening the gap between his feet, he added, "trust her, she's been doing this for months now."

_You're joking..._

"Okay, once that dragon hits the ground," the Imperial instructed, "attack it. Fast. It won't be stunned forever." He moved a few feet away from the group and out of the dragon's sight then chanted with his eyes shut while his arms waved his glowing hands above his head.

Meanwhile, the Bosmer paused and stared at the dragon hovering above her. Even from that distance, Vilkas could clearly pick up the words the dragon bellowed. "You dare show yourself to me after that insulting display of cowardice."

"I wouldn't call it 'cowardice', Vuljotnaak," The Bosmer replied. "Just so you know, that was suppose to give you a chance to flee."

"Insolence!" Vuljotnaak roared then landed on the ground with a loud thud, and, despite the distance, the guards and Companions staggered as the tremor reached them. Its great maw opened wide as a ball fire formed inside its mouth.

Yet the Bosmer stood still, head tilted up as she stared at the furious creature.

Farkas looked over to his brother. "We can't just stand here!"

On that, Vilkas couldn't agree more; he took one step only to halt as he heard the Bosmer shout, " _Tiid_!"

In the corner of his eye, he caught the Imperial just as he pulled down his glowing hands. A loud pained roar echoed across the field as the scaled creature writhed at the walls of lightning that rose from below where it stood.

"Where'd she go?" Farkas said while scanning the vicinity.

 _That can't be right,_ Vilkas thought. _She was there a while ago._

The captain grabbed the Imperial by the shoulders. "What in Shor's beard did you do!?"

"She's fine... trust me," The Imperial replied, stumbling back and panting as soon as the other man released him. "Now kill it before it recovers. Go!"

"He isn't going anywhere," Vilkas told the captain, his hand gesturing at the exhausted mage.

The captain studied the Imperial briefly then ordered the other guards to charge. The two Companions joined them, attacking the dragon's flanks while the archers fired from the distance.

Recovering from the shock, Vuljotnaak flapped his tattered wings as his hind legs raised up his upper body; however, the damage was so devastating that he could no longer fly above an inch from the ground. Furious beyond imaginable, he snapped at his attackers, one guard caught between its teeth and tossed up into the air behind him while its tail swept some of the evading soldiers across the field.

Farkas lunged with his greatsword raised high over his head, sinking it down the thick scales of its flank. The dragon roared before it lunged its head down at the Companion.

"Watch out!" Vilkas yelled, his hands gripping his sword's hilt tightly. The werewolf within him struggled to claw its way out as he pushed himself to run faster and faster, lest his brother ended up the creature's next meal.

An arrow pierced the creature's left eye followed by three successive shots that penetrated through its neck. In the corner of his eye, Vilkas saw the Bosmer perched on top of a large rock fifty paces from them and with an ethereal bow in hand. He wasn't certain but he swore he caught a glimpse of a brief smug grin.

Whatever it was, Vilkas focused back on the dragon. Discovering an opening in its defenses, he charged with a loud war cry and swung the sword at the base of its neck. Blood and ichor fountained forth from the gash. Once again, the dragon lunged its head down with its jaws wide open, but this time, Farkas thrust up his blade from under its throat, burying it up to the hilt.

Vuljotnaak twitched violently and struggled to pull its head away but Farkas kept pushing. Its right eye glared at the Bosmer as she jumped down from the rock and approached them. Her bow had already disappeared and her casual saunter while approaching it only served to irk the creature more. " _Craven!_ " It poured with what little breath and life he had left to his insults and threats. "Alduin will devour you all! Do you here me!? All of you!"

"I'm sure." The Bosmer smiled. "In the meantime, why don't you settle in your new cage with the rest of your siblings."

" _Dovahkin_!" Vuljotnaak roared then spasmed a few times before collapsing into the ground.

Vilkas pushed his twin away before the dragon crushed them. For a moment, the two Companions just stared at the creature's body in disbelief. _Did we just killed a dragon?_ The remaining guards seemed to have the same thought as silence descended over the field. There attentions only turned to the Bosmer when the streams of golden-white light transferred from the dragon's corpse towards her. She looked dazed at that moment; but, as soon as the light dissipated and there was nothing left on the dragon except its bones, she recovered.

"Dragonborn..." The captain approached slowly. "Are you... all right?"

"I am." The Dragonborn straightened herself. "How many casualties?"

The captain blinked. "What?"

"Your men. How many are injured?"

"A-ah, right." The captain cleared his throat. "T-three men dead, some injured in varying degrees."

A grim expression crossed her features but only briefly as it returned stoic. "Understood. Have the able men carry the injured to the Temple."

"At once." As the captain nodded and then faced his men as he barked out orders.

The Dragonborn smiled to the approaching Imperial who used a fallen branch as walking a stick to support his slightly trembling legs. "Excellent work."

"You too." Her mage grinned slightly. "That time magic you just did... I'd really like to learn that trick some time. Looks very handy."

"I would love to teach you Marcurio, but first you need to train with the Greybeards. For, oh perhaps, ten years or so?"

Marcurio merely stared blankly at her. "Train... with crazy old men... in that freezing fortress of theirs with nothing to eat other than, what? Dried fish and stale bread? You know what, I'm perfectly fine with throwing fireballs and shooting lightning if it means good meal and warm weather."

"I thought so." She patted his shoulder then approached the two Companions, more specifically, towards Vilkas. "Strange place to find you again, stranger."

Vilkas responded with a grunt as he inspected her from head to toe. _So this is the rumored Dragonborn..._ He heard the tales at The Bannered Mare after the Greybeards summoned her. During that time, and up until now, he assumed she would be a Nord like the heroes of legends — tall, bearded man with a large sword on his back. The last thing he expected was a scrawny little wood elf who preferred to wiggle her fingers and perform parlor tricks than swing a proper blade. To say that this was disappointing was an understatement. _The Divines have a strange sense of humor._

"You two know each other?" Farkas asked the Bosmer.

"Briefly," she replied. "We-"

"Met on the road," Vilkas finished. He wasn't about to let his brother know that a puny mage like her happened to save his life. For certain, he wouldn't hear the end of it. Whether the Bosmer sensed his hesitation to share what happened between them months ago, he couldn't tell, but he was silently grateful that she dropped the matter in favor of introducing herself.

"Since we finally have the ample time to introduce ourselves..." Her hand reached out for them to shake. "You may call me Valere. I am... from the College of Winterhold." Her other hand gestured towards the Imperial. "And this is my..." She paused and regarded the other mage, her lips forming a small grin. "What do I call you? 'My ever loyal apprentice wizard'?"

"An apprentice wizard now?" Macurio retorted sardonically. "I am _utterly pleased_ that you've finally promoted me from pack mule. Perhaps this time, you can start carrying your own things."

"Oh, stop complaining. They were only small trinkets." She shook her head at the Imperial's grumbling response then continued, "anyway, this is Marcurio."

Despite their friendly nature however, Vilkas gave them a wary look. He wasn't inclined on befriending mages simply because they fought together. In fact, they would most likely never meet again for this, so why bother?

Farkas shook her hand instead. "Uh, Farkas." He jerked his head towards his brother. "And this is Vilkas." His hands did not linger however.

"Ah, I must be off. The Jarl would want a report on the incident." Valere bowed lightly, taking no offense to the wary dispositions of the two Nords. "In any case, thank you again for the aid. Should you need anything—"

"We don't," Vilkas interrupted, yet the Bosmer continued.

"Should you need anything, you may find me in Breezehome." And with those parting words, she and the Imperial left the two Companions.

~oOo~

Dragonsreach hadn't changed since the last time Valere walked its halls. Guards patrolled the area as servants scuffled about with their daily duties. As she ascended the stairs leading to the Jarl's dining hall that served as a throne room as well, a part of her wished she hadn't left Marcurio behind in Breezehome with Lydia. He would've been a welcomed ally against dismissals of her requests by the Jarl's steward, Avenicci, or the housecarl Irileth's suspicions. Then again, that smart-mouth would just wind up in jail for accidentally insulting the Jarl with his snide comments.

"Dragonborn," Balgruuf greeted when she approached his throne. "My guards reported you've dealt with the dragon that attacked Rorikstead." On one side of the Jarl, his steward stood as he observed from the dais the bowing Bosmer. On the other side stood the court wizard, Farengar, and Irileth.

"Not just one dragon, my Jarl," Valere corrected. "Two attacked Rorikstead while I was passing by. Most of the villagers survived but all of your guards patrolling the area had sacrificed their lives to bide us time." She dared to step forward and continued, "Riverwood could be the next village the dragon burns down if we don't—"

"You are the supposed 'Dragonborn', hero of legends, are you not?" Avenicci interrupted. "Is it not your duty to kill these beasts?"

"Is it not also the duty of your guards to protect the citizens of a Hold?" Valere replied calmly. _I will not be goaded_ , she reminded herself despite the small voice in her head telling her to shout F _us_ at the steward.

"I don't recall _protect_ sharing the same meaning with _sending them to the slaughter house_ ," Irileth cut in, her narrowed eyes glaring at the Bosmer. "Unless that has been your intention from the beginning. Weaken the Hold's defenses in the guise of helping..."

"I assure you, Whiterun's defenses is my priority." Valere glowered at the Dunmer. _Keep calm, Valere, just go with the plan._ "In fact, I have a proposal to strengthen it."

At the mention of the last statement, Balgruuf leaned forward and asked, "and what would that be?" All eyes turned to him as he stroked his beard while waiting for the Dragonborn's response.

This was it — the opening Valere had waited for. "Have your blacksmith craft the best armors you can provide your soldiers and I assure you that the College of Winterhold will provide the best enchantment to protect your soldiers from the next dragon attack."

Irileth crossed her arms against her chest. "And what assurance do we have that you wouldn't just run off with them?"

"If it puts your mind at ease, then have some of your soldiers accompany me," Valere answered.

Balgruuf sat silently as he considered his options. "And what makes my court wizard capacity insufficient for this task?"

All eyes turned to Farengar who stiffened from their gaze. "Oh, I could certainly perform enchantments on any armor," he replied carefully. "But we lack the supplies that only the College could provide. What's more, they have more mages, and thus, the task would be finished much faster."

"Does no one here realize the political ramifications of the Jarl's men marching in to Stormcloak territory? The armors they'll be guarding will not help either," Avenicci chided before turning his gaze to Balgruuf. "My Jarl, should the Imperial army find out, they will assume that we have sided with the rebels, and they will no doubt attack Whiterun for that."

The Jarl leaned back, stroking his beard.

 _Damn this war_ , Valere thought and she nearly had spoken it out loud had she not bitten her lower lip. _And politics too with all its complicated horseshit_. No matter how long she immersed herself in politics, she could never comprehend it. However, complicated as it may be, she wouldn't let it hinder her from her goal.

"Jarl Balgruuf," she began, carefully selecting her next words. "With all due respect, the civil war is a small threat compared to—"

Balgruuf raised a hand, immediately silencing her. "The civil war can turn my Hold into ruins as much as any dragon could. These beasts are not my only enemies. I'm sorry Dragonborn, but I cannot grant your request."

There was a finality in the Jarl's tone, and Valere tried to keep her features neutral. "I... understand..." Bowing lightly, she turned to leave but before she could reach the stairs, Farengar spoke.

"There may be another way."

**END OF CHAPTER**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished another chapter. This one took a long time due to real life and writer’s block.

 

The beastblood never seem to let Vilkas sleep soundly. While it came in handy during nights on the road to do whatever work was given to him, a part of him missed that night months ago in that old shack. He wondered if he should let himself get ambushed again just to get a good night's rest. Then again, if no one was there to save his hide, he'd certainly be resting forever. After two more hours of twisting and turning, he finally gave up catching some proper sleep and headed out of his room. However, he had to stop in front the Harbinger's room when he noticed the candles were still lit.

Peeking inside, he found Kodlak awake and deep in the one of the books on his table, his quill marking a few lines before scribbling some notes on his journal. Weariness was very prominent in his features but so was determination. Nevertheless, it did not stop the worry gnawing in the back of the young Companion's mind. “Master,” he spoke as he entered, “perhaps it's best to continue this after some rest.”

“I am nobody's 'master' Vilkas,” Kodlak reminded him and for a moment the other Companion thought he might get scolded for speaking out of line but the older Nord just smiled in understanding. “There's no need to worry. I've already had some sleep as much as you did.”

The beastblood had taken much more toll on him with his age if the hours of sleep wasn't enough, Vilkas had noted as a part of him wondered if he was seeing what he and his brother would become. Embracing the beast seemed much easier than fighting against it. But he made a promise to the Harbinger — he and Farkas — that they would resist the call. With each passing day though, it became more difficult. During the battle with the dragon earlier, he nearly transformed himself. Staring sightlessly towards the wall, he admitted softly, “I can still hear the call of the blood.”

“We all do,” Kodlak replied. “It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome it.” Words of wisdom that once soothed the younger Nord didn't seem to have the same effect. Closing his book, he then rummage through the parchments had set aside. Hopefully, this would help in taking his mind off the beastblood. “In any event, now that you're here, this came by late last night.”

Vilkas took the letter handed to him and read its contents: a request for two Companions to guard Adrianne's wares from Whiterun to Winterhold then back to Whiterun. His brows furrowed as he read the letter again. “This is... an odd request.” _To put it mildly_ , he added mentally. Since when did Adrianne sold her merchandise outside of Whiterun? And while one Companion is worth ten soldiers — both in skill and in coin — why not ask assistance from the Jarl instead? Her father is the steward after all.

Glancing over to the Harbinger, the latter's features gave him the same line of thoughts. _What are those wares exactly?_ He wanted to ask but shook his head. Having been the Companion's client a couple of times, he knew well enough that her shop only sold blades and armor, nothing else. Besides, why a client chose them is irrelevant. All that mattered is that what they're accepting wouldn't dishonor the Companions... and the payment was worth the effort.

Folding the parchment, he told Kodlak, “I'll ask her the details when she opens her shop.” And with a quick nod from the older Nord, he turned and made his way up the training yard to practice before breakfast.

~oOo~

Vilkas did clarify the details with Adrianne Avenicci that day. So far, he didn't see anything suspicious. In fact, the wares were merely normal — and decently crafted — armors. However, since she couldn't leave her forge for a few days trip, an investor of their shop would be accompanying them instead. Nothing unusual with the arrangement, though this got him a bit curious. It didn't matter though. In the end, he accepted the job and returned to Jarvaskr to inform his brother of their new job and then prepare for tomorrow's departure.

A part of him hesitated to leave the Harbinger on his own but did not voice out his concerns. He doubt Kodlak would appreciate being coddled. The gods at least listened to his silent worries and had Aela and the rest of the whelps return from their hunt. With her return came the boisterous tales from the new bloods. They had encountered some bandits on the way and back, and while there were some injuries here and there, all made it back in one piece.

Farkas, in return, told them about the dragon he and his brother fought yesterday. Most were in disbelief, some even called it horse shit. They had to look over to other twin who confirmed the story with a nod. “Go ask the guards,” he told them. That seemed to be enough verification as everyone returned to their conversation.

Their voices were no more than ambient sound to Vilkas as his thoughts drifted off to the dragon battle, particularly the Dragonborn. From what heard around town, she was Thane of Whiterun. That was the only thing that sounded closest to the truth. The rest were exaggerated tales passed from one gossip monger to another. The only thing common to those stories was that she never stayed in one place for long. _Explains why I've never seen her around here_ , he thought as he finished his mug of ale then got up.

“Leaving so early Vilkas?” Aela grinned as the other Nord passed by where she sat.

“Job tomorrow,” he replied curtly before turning his gaze towards his twin. “Don't get yourself too drunk tonight.” There was a quick “aye” from his brother before continuing his way down to the basement to his quarters.

Not surprisingly, the next morning, Farkas was sporting a terrible headache though Vilkas admits that his twin could handle hangovers far better than he could. Had he been in the other Nord's position, he'd still be in bed groaning at painful throbbing in his head rather than heading towards the stables and just grumbling under his breath about the sun being too bright.

As they neared the stables, they caught sight of the six figures already there. One was Adrianne aided in placing the crates on the carriage by a dark-haired woman and the smart-mouthed Imperial the other day. The other two were a red-haired Nord and the Dragonborn herself, the latter looking weary at whatever the man was requesting.

“Erik, Danica may have mended your broken arm but you still need to rest it.”

“I know,” Erik replied. “But-”

“No, buts.” Valere spoke with finality in her tone.

He sighed in resignation. “I understand...”

Her stern gaze softened as she lightly patted his uninjured arm. “There will be other adventures, I promise.” That at least brought a small smile on the eager man's lips. As the latter walked away, she turned towards the two Companions. “Just in time, though I admit, I was surprised to hear from Adrianne that you two would be escorting the goods.”

Vilkas stared at her with a dumbfounded look but it was Farkas who gave voice to his thoughts. “Wait... you're a merchant?”

She grinned. “Among other things. I can't make a living out of just killing dragons.”

Recovering from his initial reaction, Vilkas retorted, “next you'll tell us you're some renowned gourmet traveling across Tamriel?”

Overhearing the statement, Marcurio snorted. “She can't cook a decent meal even if her life depended on it. Good thing Lydia coming with us. The charred meat I've been fed for the last couple of weeks would've killed me first before any dragon could.”

Valere glared at the Imperial mage. “You're being overly dramatic. I'm quite good with mixing things.”

He fixed her with a deadpanned look. “You mix potions and poisons. One tastes like skeever piss, the other can put a mammoth to sleep. Permanently.”

She glared at him before shifting her gaze towards her housecarl for defense. Lydia quickly turned around and busied herself with the crates. “That's everything,” Adrianne announced, breaking their — in Vilkas' opinion — trivial argument.

As the blacksmith left, Valere entered the stables and brought two horses for the twins before joining mage companion on the carriage's perch while her housecarl sat on the back of the cart. Vilkas eyed at the horse. He rarely used them whenever he traveled. Such were easily too frightened at the first sight of trouble, especially after he reverted back from his werewolf form and covered in blood and gore.

The first few hours of travel was uneventful at best, utterly boring at worst. They met no trouble on the road except for the occasional wild animals that strayed too close to the road. They were dispatched without so much fuss, either by a sword from the two Companions or a small fireball from the Imperial mage. Honestly, this arrangement still bemused Vilkas, but the Companions had already accepted the job after hearing its details, so rescinding the agreement would make them appear dishonorable. He remained silent during that time while the two mages amiably chatted until they finally ran out of things to talk about.

At that point there was only the sound of rustling leaves and chirping birds. Vilkas basked in the momentary serenity that was disturbed when the Bosmer asked his twin, “fun night?”

Farkas blinked. “What?”

“You look like someone who had too much mead then ended up in a good brawl with whomever,” she replied as her finger tapped on her left cheek, indicating the large bruise on his.

“Something like that.” A small grin briefly crossed his lips before he turned to the other side, nearly losing his breakfast as the wave of nausea hit him once the horse trotted along a rough road.

Handing the reins to the Imperial mage, Valere rummage in her pack and pulled out a waterskin. “Here, this will help.” When he merely stared at it with narrowed eyes, she took a swig then added, “see? Completely safe.”

There was a few seconds of reluctance as she offered to Farkas the waterskin again but he accepted it in the end and drank its contents. Vilkas watched him in the corner of his eye, waiting for any signs of poisoning. So far, the only change in his twin is the small scowl forming on his lips.

“What's this?” Farkas asked while glaring at the waterskin as though it had insulted him.

“It's tea,” Valere replied with a broad grin. “I added a bit of blue mountain flower, some honeycomb and-”

“Tastes like dirty water.”

She grinned. “Well, that dirty water saved me from hours of serious headache after a night of heavy drinking.” Despite his complaint, he still chugged it down to the last drop. And once he was done, he returned the waterskin with a brief small grin.

After that, the Dragonborn was able to coax him into a conversation. Well, she did most of the talking but she had his full attention — more so when the headache and nausea had subsided. She told him stories of her little adventures such as clearing old forts full of bandits or some caves filled with vampires, exploring Dwemer ruins, and the occasional dragon hunting. Marcurio would add how she nearly got him killed with her adventures though he still would enthusiastically share about their findings in the Dwemer ruins. Lydia would even chime in as well especially when the two mages couldn't agree on a certain fact. By the time they've reached The Pale, Farkas had joined in and shared a few stories of his own. There was an attempt to pull Vilkas into their conversation but said Nord merely answered curtly and refused to divulge more information than necessary. Despite his indifference however, he couldn't help but listen from time to time.

The chatting had halted abruptly however when two Stormcloaks trudged along the main road. Valere's features remained nonchalant — even flashing the soldiers a friendly smile as they passed by their cart; but Vilkas' senses could smell the fear in her and hear her heart racing as she watched them in the corner of her eye. He swore that her heartbeat even increased by ten-fold when one of the Stormcloaks suddenly turned and ordered, “hold.”

The carriage did stop and despite that calm tone her voice presented as she queried if there was any problem, she could not hide from his sharp senses that very slight strain while speaking.

“That's a lot of wares you have there elf,” the soldier declared as he stopped by the side of the cart to inspect their cargo.

Lydia instinctively reached for the hilt of her blade but did not pull it out just yet. Marcurio's hands began to crackle with lightning but the Bosmer gripped his wrist while she grinned to the soldier. “Indeed. Supplies for the College.”

“What kind of supplies?” The other Stormcloak questioned.

She shrugged. “Magical trinkets and what-not, I suspect. Was only paid to deliver these there.” When one of them stepped closer, she quickly added, “I wouldn't go near those crates though. Got strict instructions that whatever's inside is delicate and if not handle properly, it might explode.”

“Explode!?” Both Stormcloaks backed away but maintained a leery gaze towards the crates.

Vilkas kept silent but continued to observe the Dragonborn as she spun some intricate magical technicalities he suspected any mage would immediately pick up as gibberish. She was an excellent liar, he’d give her that, but the soldiers interrogating her lacked the beastblood. They could not hear the increase in her pulse, that slight twitch in her muscles like a deer ready to bolt the moment it spotted any potential predator. He could already feel in him the wolf's feral grin at the idea of hunting her down in the woods. How quick does she run? If he catches up and pins onto the ground, how hard does she struggle before accepting the inevitable—

Immediately, he diverted his thoughts to somewhere else — anything other than that growing craving within him to taste human flesh and blood. Pondering on the intention of her lie seemed to help temper the animalistic urges. It was rather curious that she did not simply tell them what was inside. Merchants commonly traveled the roads of Skyrim, though not as often as before the civil war began. This shouldn't be a surprise to anyone. _Unless there's more to what we've been told_ , Vilkas mused, lips forming a deep scowl.

Everyone watched the two Stromcloaks go after giving a stern warning about making sure the crates do not explode in populated areas. Once out of earshot, Valere along with her housecarl and fellow mage breathed a collective sigh of relief. “Well, off we go then. Still have a long road to cover,” she announced, grabbing the horse's reins from the Imperial before continuing on their journey as though nothing happened. Vilkas thought of voicing out his question but reconsidered it. Perhaps the Dragonborn was merely wary of the soldiers confiscating her wares. Then again, he doubted that they would attempt to given that two Companions were guarding the merchandise. Even without him and his brother, the Stormcloaks were still outnumbered.

“You're doing it again.” Farkas pointed out as he guided his horse beside his twin.

“Doing what?”

“That.” He mimicked his brother's expression, knitting his brows until a crease formed in his forehead. “You make that face when you're thinking too much.”

Vilkas briefly glanced over to the carriage then jerked his head to the side before riding ahead of the carriage; far enough that the carriage's riders wouldn't hear their conversation. His brother knew what it meant and followed behind him right away. Once out of earshot, he murmured, “I think there's something more going on than just a simple escort of goods.”

“Like what?” Farkas asked.

“Not sure,” Vilkas admitted. “Still trying to figure that out.”

“Shouldn't matter,” Farkas replied with a shrug. “We're just here to guard the goods.”

Vilkas sighed. His brother might not be the brightest candle but he made a fair point. Part of him wondered why this even bothered him when he had encountered similar jobs before. _Perhaps it was less about the job and more about her_ , that little voice in his head mused which he quickly ignored by shaking his head; though he had to admit that she was an enigma. He could tell if she lies but could not figure out the purpose behind it; and that just irritated him.

“I'll scout ahead,” he told his brother before his horse galloped further down the road.

The carriage not long after caught up with Farkas' horse. Both Imperial and Bosmer watched the other Compaion ride off. “What's wrong with him?” Valere asked.

“Just got a lot of stuff in mind,” Farkas replied with a shrug as his horse trotted beside the cart.

~oOo~

By the time they reached Nightgate Inn, the sun had already set. Aside from the growing cold winds, heavy snow began to fall. The Imperial had eagerly rushed inside with his thick fur cloaks wrapped around his body as soon as the carriage stopped. Vilkas swore he could hear the man praising the Divines even when the door had shut. However, the Dragonborn remained with them to secure the carriage despite covering herself with similar fur cloaks and hood. Even with her housecarl's urging, she refused to leave until her wards made sure that none of the wares would be stolen. The carriage had been well-secured but it left her chilled to the bones once they'd entered the inn.

The way she guarded her goods would put the Khajiits caravans to shame. _What was so important with those armors?_ Vilkas wondered as he settled down on the bed in the room he and his brother would be sharing. Shaking his head, he reminded himself of Farkas' words before heading out to the main hall for some venison stew and good bottle of ale or two.

Later that night, Vilkas woke from a nightmare panting heavily and his entire body covered in sweat. Eyes flickered from the ceiling to the wall as he tried to recall where he was. It was definitely not the woods — thank the Divines. Beside him, he recognized his brother's occasional snores and even breathing and everything came back to him.

Sighing in relief, Vilkas sat up and look over to Farkas who slept so soundly despite having the same curse as his. “I envy you sometimes,” he muttered, heaving out another deep sigh before getting out of bed. He wasn't going to get any sleep anytime soon so he might as well put the remaining time before sunrise to good use.

After putting on his armor, he grabbed his sword and left the room. In the common hall, only the sound of crackling flames in the fire pit could heard. The owner, Hadring, was not in his usual spot at the bar. Most likely, the man had went down the cellar to rest. Vilkas had rented a room here enough times to know that the older Nord would wake up at least before sunrise so he figured it must still be in the middle of the night.

Standing outside, Vilkas breathed in the crisp air. The heavy snow subsided into small bits of snowflakes drifting gently down from the sky. Light wind brushed against his cheeks as he stepped down the stairs. For any other race, this would still be considered chilly, but for a Nord like him who had been born and raised in Skyrim, this was just right. As he unsheathed his blade to give it a few tentative swings, his ears picked up the sound of a snapping branch. Immediately, he halted any movement and watched the trees with narrowed eyes. This time, he listened intently to his surroundings and heard footsteps from behind the inn. Sniffing the air, he caught the scent of three strangers.

 _Thieves_ , he thought as his grip on the hilt tightened. _Probably here for the armors._ Carefully, he made his way to the back. With each step, the whispered conversation turned into loud orders of slaying whatever it was stomping on the ground. As he neared the corner of the wall, he scanned the area and then his eyes widened at the sight of a tall bulky creature made of ice. Its thick frozen arm swatted one of the high elves before he could cast a spell. Two of his comrades were already still on the ground with their blood staining the white snow.

 _Frost Atronach._ Vlikas cursed inwardly as he recalled battling one during that job where he dealt with a conjurer in an old tomb. Thief or not, his honor demanded him to save the mer from the monster. Charging forward, he blocked the thrusting sharp tip of its arm with his greatsword. He flinched at the impact but stood his ground while the Altmer fled to a safe distance that injuries would allow. Had his blade been made with any other material, it might have broken. He made a quick mental note to thank Eorland once he returned.

The atronach switched from quick jabs with its one arm to powerful clubs with its blunt one. The first was easier to block but the other had him staggering back. The creature raised its arm for another attack but abruptly still midway as a glowing arrow pierced through its head — or where a head should have been.

There were many questions running into Vilkas' mind — one being where in Oblivion did that arrow come from — but those can be answered later. Right now, as he gripped the hilt with both hands, he swung the large blade at its legs until it shattered. As the attronach fell onto the ground, one of his mental queries was answered. A few yards away stood the Dragonborn with her ethereal bow raised with a loaded arrow — one that was released without warning and now heading towards him.

**END OF CHAPTER**

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this took a while. Classes started last month so I got really busy.

**CHAPTER 3**

 

Vilkas thought he'd be breathing through a new hole on his head if he ever survived. Even with his quick reflexes, there was no way to evade the arrow in time. However, instead of piercing through his skull, he felt the arrow nearly grazing his cheek as it flew past him. From behind, he heard a brief gasp followed by something hitting the ground. Turning around, he saw the Altmer's lifeless body as the arrow pierced through the back of his neck.

He quickly shifted his attention back to the Bosmer, his eyes narrowing as he glared at her. “What in Oblivion do you think you are doing!?”

“Protecting my wares,” Valere replied casually as she approached the dead High Elf and began looting the corpse.

He kept his wary gaze. “And how can you be certain that they were indeed stealing?”

“If they weren’t, my attronach wouldn’t have attacked.”

“You summoned that thing!?”

She raised a brow as her head tilted up to look at him. “Do you see any other mage nearby?”

“Just an unskilled one, unfortunately,” he grumbled. “Learn to rein your pets next time.”

“Had you not defended these Thalmors, it would not have attacked you.”

One word caught Vilkas’ attention. “Thalmor?”

She took out a note from the corpse and handed it over to him. He scanned the parchment with furrowed brows. _Thalmor agents? What are they-_ Then, he suddenly remembered the Stormcloak soldiers and he finally understood. Without warning, he pointed his blade towards the Bosmer who still remained kneeling on the ground. “What are in these crates?”

“Armors. I thought Adrianne had explained-“

“For whom?”

And there, her voice hesitated. Though neutrality remained in her features, the quickening heartbeat confirmed everything Vilkas had suspected. Sighing, she admitted, “for the Whiterun guards.”

His jaws clenched tightly as his grip on the hilt tightened. “I do not appreciate being lied to, elf.” He refused to address her as Dragonborn for such title is reserved for the honorable and this Bosmer in front of him lacks such.

“I never lied, Vilkas,” she replied calmly as she stood up despite the tip of his sword still trained on her. “I merely gave the information you need to know. Besides, would it truly make a difference if I told you that the Thalmor and Stormcloaks might get involved?”

“Of course it would!” Vilkas shot back. “The Companions fight for honor and glory, not for politics.”

“And that is why you were hired.” Taking a deep breath, she began her explanation. “This may appear political, but that is what we are trying to avoid. Aside from the fact that the Jarl’s soldiers have already been stretched too thin, sending them with me would cause… a misunderstanding. One of which is Tulius presuming that Jarl Balgruuf has taken Ulfric’s side…”

“Giving him ample excuse to attack Whiterun,” Vilkas finished.

“The inn’s patrons were right.” Valere grinned. “You are the smarter one.” Ignoring his glare, she continued, “Considering your guild remains neutral in the conflict…”

Vilkas’ scowl deepened. “So you decided to use us as a cover."

“Your words, not mine. All I care about is making sure the guards would not get skewered by the next dragon they face,” Valere retorted with a shrug. “So what is it to be then? Will the honorable Companion continue aiding me in keeping Whiterun — your home, if I might add — safe? Or would you leave a defenseless merchant behind due to… what? Minor technicalities?”

Vilkas snorted. _Defenseless, my foot_. Still, he lowered his blade and considered his options. Had this been an ordinary job, he would let it slide — definitely be pissed and demand a higher fee, but finish the work nonetheless. He had no desire of giving people the impression of him or the Companions as dishonorable band of mercenaries who go back on their word. However, this involves the civil war — one that the Companions stood firmly to refrain from getting involved. In the end, it all boils down to whether or not he could trust this Bosmer’s words.

It took a moment but finally, he made his decision. “Five hundred septims.”

Valere blinked. “I’m sorry. What?”

“If you had disclosed everything, that would cost you another five hundred septims. For each Companion.” Vilkas couldn’t help the smug little grin as he heard the woman breathe out a curse.

“And here I thought I was the merchant,” she muttered then sighed. “How about… two hundred fifty?”

He crossed his arms. “Five hundred.”

“Three hundred?”

“Are you deaf? I said five hundred.”

“Three fifty and free enchantment of your swords.”

Vilkas snorted. “Not interested in magic.”

Valere rolled her eyes. “Nords… Fine. Three seventy-five plus warm food and lodging.”

“That’s even worse than your last offer.”

“Have you even been to Winterhold? You’d be lucky to get one, yet alone both.”

“And you think I can’t handle a little cold?”

“Oh, I’m certain you can handle the weather of say… Solitude but need I point out that we’re heading to the ass-end of Skyrim?”

“Solitude!?“ Vilkas said indignantly. “Do you take me for a milk-drinker!?”

“No, I take you for a sensible man who ought to know that five-hundred septims might not be enough to cover your expenses during our stay there.” Valere opened her arms wide. “I offer my hospitality Vilkas. You’ll certainly won’t get a warmer one anywhere else there.”

Vilkas took a moment to consider, his lips forming a deeper scowl. He had only passed by the hold — usually on his way to Windhelm — but never reached the town itself. From what he heard, the only thing truly thriving there was the College. Sighing, he finally replied, “fine.”

“So glad to have your approval.”

His eyes narrowed however as he warned, “I’m still watching you.”

Her lips formed a lopsided grin. “I’ll make sure you get a good view then.”

Before Vilkas could mull over the meaning behind her last response, she strolled back to the inn. “Time to wake up the others. We still have a long road ahead of us.”

 

~oOo~

 

By the time the sun had risen, the Dragonborn’s group had reached the forking road — one leading to Windhelm, the other to their destination. Both mages were thankful to the Divines for the clear skies; though the Imperial was more vocal about his praises once he shook off his sleepiness. He also stared at the Bosmer incredulously only hours after she had told him and Lydia that Vilkas knew what they were here for.

“Took you long enough to react,” Valere said as she kept her eyes on the road. The twins may have rode ahead to scout the area, but she wasn’t going to take any chances.

“You expect anyone to absorb that kind of news while being sleep-deprived?” Marcurio retorted.

“Lydia did,” she replied. “And she’s taking it well.”

“She’s your housecarl. Tell her to jump and she’ll ask ‘how high?’”

Sitting at the back of the cart, Lydia cleared her throat before shooting the Imperial a sharp glare.

“N-not that it’s a bad thing,” Marcurio quickly added as his brain scrambled to change the topic. “In any case, how did you manage not to piss the man off? I imagined he would have left at best, cut you in half at worst.”

Valere grinned. “I can be persuasive.”

He raised a brow. “Persuasive or… _persuasive_?” That earned him a light slap on his arm.

She huffed indignantly. “I don’t need to take my clothes off to get a job done.”

Rubbing his upper arm, he muttered, “Not like anything’s worth seeing either way-ow! For the love Mara—” The sudden stop of the carriage had him jerk back slightly.

“Trouble thane?” Lydia asked as she looked over her shoulders.

Two horses galloped towards the carriage’s direction yet neither of their riders returned with them..

“Something must’ve gone wrong,” Valere said as she jumped down from her seat. “Lydia, with me. Marcurio, secure the carriage and horses.” She did not wait for any response as she marched her way up the road her left hand emitting a bluish-white glow; and ever the obedient housecarl, Lydia quickly followed behind the Bosmer.

 

~oOo~

 

Vilkas clenched his jaws tightly as he knocked off another skeleton while back to back with his twin. It started with just two skeleton archers perched on the battlements. They were no trouble or experienced warriors, especially since they couldn’t aim right even at point blank range; still the two Companions thought it best to deal with them for the sake of ignorant travelers who would be passing through later on. However, as they stormed the courtyard of the old fortress, skeletons on the snowy ground had begun to rise up, picking up the rusty swords and shields near them.

There was no end to them; with each one they knocked down two more would rise up. The two archers from the battlements now became five and they started raining down arrows on them. It was a close call that the twins were able to grab the shields from a fallen enemy in time to block the missile attacks, but it also made it difficult to swing their greatswords with one hand.

“ _Fus, ro, dah_!” A booming voice shouted, sending some of the skeletons flying towards the crumbling walls.

From the entrance, Vilkas saw Lydia charging forward, smacking their skulls with her shield while swinging her sword at their ribs.

Valere had her ethereal bow firing at stragglers, including those above. Jogging over to Vilkas just as Farkas left his twin’s side to aid the housecarl, she gave him a wide grin. “This makes me wonder if you take pleasure in me saving your hide.”

In response, Vilkas dropped the shield before both of his hands gripped the hilt of his blade.

Quick reflexes kicked in as the Bosmer ducked just in time when the he swung his sword over her head. From behind her, the headless skeleton slumped onto the ground just as the blade swatted the skull off its body.

“Dibella’s holy ass!” she exclaimed as her mouth gaped like a fish. “You—I almost—are you insane!?”

“Wouldn’t have hit you whether you’ve moved or not,” he replied while parrying another skeleton’s attack.

“Just because you’re a head taller—,” She took in deep breaths then stated much more calmly now. “We’ll discuss your attempted beheading later. Where’s the necromancer?”

Vilkas swung his large sword in a wide arc, knocking off a few skeletons in front of him. He took a deep breath as he searched the battlefield. His nose was definitely picking up an unfamiliar scent even amidst the stench of rotting corpses but he couldn’t pinpoint where. “Sure there’s one?”

“The dead don’t raise themselves on there own.” Shifting her attention back to the courtyard, Valere began mumbling a chant while a blue mist enveloped her right hand. Her eyes scanned every inch of the area until they turned towards the tower. “There.”

Vilkas squinted his eyes as he followed where her finger had been pointing. “I don’t see anything.”

“You wouldn’t,” she replied as she summoned her ethereal bow again. “He’s invisible…” While pulling the glowing bowstring, she added with a grin, “and too busy raising the dead.”

In one clean motion, she sent the arrow flying straight towards the invisible enemy; and just as she said, the necromancer never knew what hit him until the arrow pierced through his chest. Three shots followed successively, and the remaining skeletons abruptly dropped onto the ground at the same time as their master.

“Thane,” Lydia called as she hurried over to the Dragonborn. “Are you all right?”

“I am,” Valere replied.

“I think that’s all of them,” Farkas said as he approached her.

“Let’s hope so.” Valere said before her eyes caught the injury on his left arm. “Nasty gash you have there.”

Farkas followed her gaze then shrugged. “Just a flesh wound.”

“Hmnh…” Her attention shifted towards the road they would still need to cover. “Lydia, have the carriage brought here. We can rest for a bit before moving on.”

“At once,” Lydia said before she immediately left the fort.

A white glow enveloped Valere’s hands. “Let me have a look at that.”

Farkas bulked at the sight of magic. “It’s fine. Nothing I can’t handle.” Despite his attempt to hide his hesitation, his terse response was far too obvious for anyone to pick up.

Sighing, Valere lowered her hands with the white light immediately dissipating. “Of course. Some potions at least? It would help you heal much faster, and just in case, heal any torn tendons.”

Farkas briefly side-glanced towards his twin who knew well enough the question floating in his brother’s head. _Should I?_ Vilkas’ natural wariness told him ‘no’; but as he examined the wound, he decided against his instincts and nodded.

Farkas nodded to the Bosmer who immediately made her way to get her supplies from the carriage that had just arrived.

Vilkas busied himself with checking for any injuries as well. He joined the two women and Imperial mage at the carriage to get the bandages on his pack. He was about to toss his twin a roll when he picked up another unfamiliar scent. Just as he mouth opened to warn everyone, a large frozen spike pierced through his brother’s right shoulder.

His shout nearly sounded like a roar. “Farkas!” He caught his staggering twin before he fell onto the ground. Turning his furious gaze towards the fort’s entrance, he found another mage in black robes — a female Dunmer — preparing to fire another spell. With unnatural speed, he rushed towards her, his hand reaching her neck before she could finish casting.

The Dunmer struggled as she was lifted off the ground, her hands clawing at his wrists. That only served to anger the Nord further as his hand tightened around her neck until something snapped and the last thing the mage saw was his steely eyes turning golden and his bared gritting teeth sharpening.

Tossing the lifeless body aside, Vilkas rushed inside the old building, his ears deaf to the sound of the others’ voices outside. The beast within him demanded for blood, and he has no intention of denying it.

However, as he searched every room, he found no one else. Just old shelves and books and corpses. The lack of any of those vile mages to tear up fueled his anger. With a guttural roar, he unleashed the wolf that he worked so hard to contain. In his beast form, he smashed and tore anything he could get his hands on. In spite of it, as he reverted into his original form, it brought no satisfaction — only weariness and grief.

 

~oOo~

 

Valere stepped out of the tent and took in the crisp air before glancing down at her blood-soaked hands that had droplets of red fluid staining the perfect snow beneath her feet. She and Marcurio were able to temporarily stop the bleeding but so much blood had been lost. Had this been a simple flesh wound, they could close it now; but the ice spike did a lot more damage. Muscles were torn as well as bones either broken or shattered and most likely other internal organs damaged — all of which were beyond hers or Marcurio’s knowledge in the Restoration school.

That was why she had sent Lydia to fetch Colette from the College. The Priestess in the Temple of Kynareth would have been her preferred choice but it would take far longer to return to Whiterun and then head here; moving Farkas any further was not an option either for it could kill him. She would just have to endure the Breton healer’s high-pitched voice while berating her for hours on the importance of Restoration magic.

 _Let’s just hope they can get here soon_ , she thought with a deep scowl before bending down to cast on the snow a bit of fire — the only spell she could manage at that point while recovering her magicka. Her hands dipped down the melted ice to wash the blood off. That was when loud roar suddenly echoed from the fort. Her entire body stiffened.

“Valere!” Marcurio called from the tent. “What in Oblivion was that!?”

“Stay there and keep Farkas alive,’ Valere responded as she stood up while listening carefully. There was no sound of clashing steel, no signs of magic; just thrashing and tearing then the howl and growl of a feral beast.

 _Did… whatever that was kill Vilkas?_ Sweat trickled from her temple as her hand reached for the dagger on her belt. She cursed herself for letting that man run on his own inside. But with Farkas’ injury, she couldn’t follow; nor spare Lydia or Marcurio to aid him. How was she going to explain to the injured Nord that she let his brother die?

When everything went silent, she treaded towards the entrance. With each step, her hand tightened its grip on the dagger’s hilt. She caught a glimpse of something moving inside the dark fort and was about to strike, but Vilkas stepped out — or rather stumbled out. His entire form looked weary but uninjured, thank the gods.

“Vilkas, what happened?!” Valere asked but the other Nord made no response. She examined him carefully. His eyes were dull and sightlessly staring past her. The desperation was all too familiar. It was like when she returned to Helgen after its destruction — the death of her friends, family… she couldn’t even recognize them from the remaining burnt corpses, or what had been left after the bandits’ occupation.

_No, this is no time to dwell on such things_ , she mentally chastised herself. Her hands then reached up and cupped his cheeks to make him look at her. “Farkas will be fine.”

Vilkas’ brows furrowed. “He’s-”

“Still alive.” Her gaze never left his. “And I swear to the gods, I won’t let him die.” She didn’t let go until he gave a small nod. Then, she returned to the tent to aid Marcurio whose magicka began to dwindle.

Farkas shivered in his sleep.

Valere’s hand reached around for a potion that would help her regain some magicka. A hand held out the vial. When she glanced up, she saw that it was Vilkas who handed it to her. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

He nodded in response then asked, “what else do you need?’

For a moment, she merely blinked. She had expected minimal tolerance from him considering magic nearly killed his brother; but then again, desperation can make you cling even to the things you despise if it provides you hope. If that’s the case, she would make sure that he had placed his trust to the right person.

“Campfire,” she replied. "As well as the fur cloak. It’s inside my pack.” She watched him as he nodded without hesitation and left to do the things she asked.

 

**END OF CHAPTER**


	5. Chapter 5

 

The sun was just about to set when Lydia returned with a Breton woman sitting behind her on the horse. By then, Marcurio had already passed out from exhausting all of his magicka, and Valere was on the brink as well.

During those times of waiting, Vilkas had felt utterly useless, The only thing he could do was to fetch things from the carriage and make sure the campfire was well-supplied with wood. At one point, he had insisted that the mages would close the wound already to stop the bleeding; but the Bosmer explained that the injury was worse than what it looked like on the outside and if she did that, his brother might not be able to lift his sword the same way again.

The very idea had dread settle down his gut.

“All we can do now is to avoid infection and stop the blood from flowing out,” Valere further explained with knitted brows as she focused on the task at hand.

“And how long can you keep that up?” Vilkas had asked as he shifted his gaze towards Farkas. Between death or disability… if it coms to that, would his brother want to live like the latter? He doubted that. Death would be merciful.

“As long as it is needed.” The Bosmer’s response snapped him out of his grim thoughts. Her free hand reached for another vial, pulling the cork with her teeth, and after spitting the cork to the side, drank the entire bluish liquid. The wavering glow on the hand that was hovering above Farkas’ injured shoulder seemed to have strengthened as she returned to work.

Vilkas shifted his gaze over to the several piles of uncorked vials then to the few remaining left. She promised to keep his brother alive, but how long could that be before she passes out from exhaustion like her Imperial friend?

He wasn’t certain if she had sensed his doubts as she suddenly assured him. “I’ve sent word to the College. Help is on the way.”

And apparently, said help came in the form of this short woman who pushed him aside as she hurried inside. For someone with a small build, she was quite fearless for not even a hint of intimidation from a larger man.

Vilkas opened the flap of the tent and peered inside where he only saw the two mages’ backs facing him

Valere greeted her fellow mage but kept her focus on Farkas as she shifted from where she sat. “Perfect timing..”

“See? This is what I’ve been telling you all this time,” Colette began.

“Colette,” Valere interrupted, “patient now, lectures later.”

Colette huffed but said nothing else as she rolled the sleeves of her robes. “Fine. Get some rest then.”

“No,” Valere replied immediately. “Someone has to make sure no infection gets through while you mend everything.”

“I assure you, I can handle doing both on my own.”

Valere snorted. “Don’t be absurd. Even an apprentice knows how impossible that feat is.”

Collete pointed a finger at her dwindling magic. “You don’t even have enough magicka.”

“The reason why I had Lydia tell you to bring some potions from the College,” Valere replied as she held out her free hand. “Speaking of which, hand me one, would you? My supplies are running low here.”

“You’ve already had too much, and close to pass-”

“Colette. Hand. Me. That. Potion.” It was spoken calmly but there was an authoritative tone in the Bosmer’s voice that completely silenced the Breton before the latter handed the other woman another vial. Even as she addressed Vilkas, she kept that sternness in her speech. “Close the tent. Your letting the cold in.”

The order left no room for any argument; and so he nodded despite her not seeing his response and stepped out. Again, he was left waiting anxiously, and it irked him.To busy himself, he helped Lydia set up the rest of the tents, then wandered off to the nearest trees outside the fort to gather some more wood for the fire. When he returned, the housecarl had already began preparing the stew for their evening meal. From the tent where the two mages were, he could still see a faint light through the thin opening.

“They’ve been at it for hours,” Vilkas mumbled as he approached the campfire. _She’s been at it for hours_ , his mind corrected.

Lydia merely responded with a nod though her lips formed a deep frown.

That alone told Vilkas much how often the Dragonborn had done this, and the housecarl was powerless to convince her Thane. Why push herself this hard? What does she get out of it? She barely knew Farkas — not that he wasn’t grateful for the effort. This was just mind-boggling.

“It’s done.”

The Bosmer’s announcement pulled him out of his thought. Turning his head towards her, he opened his mouth to ask about his brother’s condition; but before the words could come out, sight of her weariness silenced him.

Saying that she looked terrible is the understatement of the era. Despite Valere’s attempt to keep her posture upright, the dark circles that formed around her half-lidded eyes told everyone who isn’t blind that she was ready to pass out at any moment; and she did after only taking a few steps.

Lydia immediately abandoned her task and rushed over to the Bosmer; however, Vilkas’ limbs moved on their own and caught the elf before the housecarl could. For a moment, he tensed at thought of her dead because her body remained still in his arms; but when his ears picked up the steady beating of her heart, his worries dissipated… at least for a bit.

“Thank you,” Lydia said as she carefully took her Thane from the Companion and carried her to the nearest tent.

It was ironic, Vilkas thought, that he would be the one thanked when it should’ve been the other way around. It was something that should be rectified; as to where to begin, he wasn’t certain yet… until after him, Lydia and Colette had finished their evening meal.

“I’ll take watch tonight,” he announced. It was a start and there were no complaints from the two women. It was the most sensible thing really. The healer needed to catch a bit of sleep since she’d be checking on Farkas’ condition every two hours while the housecarl who had traveled from here to Winterhold then back had no doubt exhausted herself. This was a start at least.

The entire night had been uneventful. The only thing Vilkas did was to watch for wild animals and wake up the healer after every two hours so that she could check on Farkas’ condition.

From the campfire, he could hear his twin’s body shifting on the bedroll or snoring briefly every now and then. It was a vast improvement compared to his unmoving body earlier. He made a mental note to thank the mages — especially the Dragonborn — for saving his brother’s life; as to how... well, he hadn’t figured that out yet.

A simple ‘thank you’ seemed... insufficient. This wasn’t just a menial task after all. Farkas would’ve died if neither the Bosmer nor the Imperial had tried and just declared him dead after he stepped out from the fort. He doubted that he would’ve questioned their assessment then.

Before he could come up with anything, Valere had stepped out of the tent. She stretched her limbs as she let out a loud yawn. Only after that did she took notice of the Nord.

“Hmmm... what time is it?” she asked while one hand rubbed her eye.

“Probably two hours before dawn,” Vilkas replied with his brows furrowing. “Should you be up now?”

“Why? Is it illegal?” The corners of her lips quirked up a bit.

His brow twitched. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you mean.” She approached the campfire then sat down beside him. “And I appreciate your concern, but I’m all right.” Her hand covered her mouth as she yawned once more. “Okay, maybe a little tired.”

“If you’re still tired, then return to bed.”

“I can’t sleep.”

Vilkas raised a brow. “Why not?”

For the next few seconds, Valere remained silent with her lips pressed tightly together while staring at the cloudy night sky. “They’re loud.”

 _Loud?_ Vilkas didn’t quite understand. Who was loud? The entire night been pretty quiet to the point of being utterly dull. “Who?”

“The voices.”

“Whose voices? No one—”

“Inside my head.” That answer had earned her a stare from the Nord as though he was sitting beside the Mad God. She must’ve expected that reaction as she added without any prompting to explain further, “the dragon souls I’ve absorbed — the named ones, I mean. They are... very opinionated, to put it mildly.”

“Are they always...” Vilkas inquired but his voice trailed off while he tried to comprehend that absurd response.

“Like that?” Valere finished his sentence before shaking her head. “No. They’re usually quiet when I’m awake. Not like their whining can do anything, being mere passengers of my body.” She shrugged. “Still annoying whenever I sleep. I mean, going on and on about _doom_ and _death_. Why can’t they talk about something nice for a change, like... butterflies?”

Vilkas’ lips curled up slightly at the image. “Butterflies?”

Valere grinned. “It’d make for an interesting dream, don’t you think? Maybe they’d even start arguing which one’s prettier, the orange one or the blue one.”

The ridiculous image had him laughing inwardly as he shook his head. “You are a very strange woman.”

“I get that often.” Standing up, she brushed off the snow on her backside and strode towards the carriage. “Anyway, I’m hungry. Wonder if there’s some bread and cheese left.”

Vilkas watched the Bosmer as she rummaged through their supplies and wonder if whatever side-effect of absorbing dragon souls have on the Dragonborn was merely trivial. She seemed to make it appear so, but a part of him suspected there’s more to it. Nonetheless, he didn’t push for more information when she returned to his side with her bread and cheese wedge.

Breaking the bread in two, she offered the other half to him; but he raised a hand and refused. She needed this more than he did; not that he was hungry either.

The two of them sat there in companionable silence as the Bosmer ate while Vilkas mulled over his words of gratitude. He didn’t even notice that she was observing him until she said, “you look like you want to say something.”

“I...” He hesitated as one hand had reached up to scratch the back of his head. Gods! And people say he was the better talker. He was uncertain if this was good enough. Time to throw caution to the wind, he supposed, and just go with it.

Taking a deep breath, he began, “I still don’t trust magic, but.. you-I mean.. with magic....” _I trust you_ , he wanted to say but couldn’t get the words out for it sounded strangely cliche? Inadequate? He silently prayed for the Divines to open up a hole on the ground and swallow him at that very moment.

Thankfully, she spared him the potential embarrassment and said with a soft smile, “It’s all right. I understand what you mean.” She added nothing else and just nipped at her cheese quietly while staring at the flickering flames of the campfire. Then, as the silence stretched out, she suddenly asked, “why are most Nords distrustful of magic?”

“I... can’t really say,” Vilkas replied as he watched her face while trying to decipher where this topic was going. “Everyone has their own reasons.”

“Why do you?”

 _Where do I begin_ , he thought as his eyes wandered around their surrounding as though he could find the answers there. His gaze landed on his greatsword. Picking it up, he showed it to her. “See this?”

She arched a brow. “Obviously. But what does this have to do with-”

“If you see a bandit carrying a weapon like this, how do you think he will attack you?”

Gazing at the night sky, she nibbled on her bread for a few moments then after swallowing, she answered, “charging towards me and swinging it around in wide arcs? I imagine he would either try to lop my head off or shove his blade straight to my gut.”

“Exactly.”

Her brows furrowed. “I don’t follow.”

He sighed. “It’s easier to predict their attacks if you know what weapon they yield. But with magic...”

“You distrust magic because of its unpredictability?”

He shrugged. “Can’t be sure at times if a spell would heal my wound or blow my arm off.”

“What about the priests and priestesses of the Temples,” she pointed out. “They use magic when healing.”

“Yeah, but their magic comes from the Divines.”

She snorted. “And our magic comes from what? The Daedra?”

“Considering nearly all the mages I’ve seen are Daedra worshippers living in caves or ruins...”

“Not all mages live in caves,” she replied then mumbled something that he wouldn’t have heard if not for his keen hearing, “not the respectable and hygienic ones at least.”

He raised a brow. “So I should ask where they live first before deciding if they’re dangerous or not?”

She laughed lightly as she shook her head. “Okay, I see your point, though in the defense of innocent mages, I’d like to correct the misconception by saying magic technically comes from the Aedra or rather Aetherius which is where the Aedra, who we presumably believe are Gods, reside.”

“ _Presumably_?’ Vilkas eyed her curiously. “You don’t think so?”

Valere gave a small lopsided grin. “I don’t think much of them, to be perfectly honest. So much so that every priest in Tamariel will flog me to death if they find out.”

“So you don’t believe they exist?” he asked.

“I believe they exist,” she answered. “I just don’t believe that they’re worth worshipping. I mean, if a guard saves me from a bear, shouldn’t I thank him for doing his job rather than a god living far, far away from our realm?”

She finished her cheese then added after swallowing, “I suppose I could thank them for a pleasant weather. I could also give them a finger when it starts snowing or raining heavily while I’m travelling.”

“I think you’ll get more than a simple flogging if the priests hear you,” he commented. “Blasphemy might get you the headman’s axe.”

She paused and stared at him with her expression turning serious. “Are you devout?”

Vilkas considered his response. He never considered himself religious. Showing reverence to the Divines was just something taught to him and his brother since they were pups. He supposed practicing it even now is just conforming to the social norm. “Not as much.”

He noticed her shoulders relaxing as she exhaled. “Good. Don’t misunderstand. I have no intention to antagonize anyone. I just tend to...” She grinned sheepishly. “Get carried away with my views.”

“I noticed.” One corner of his mouth twitched up.

“Enough about my opinions,” she said. “Tell me more about the Companions.”

“What about them?” he asked.

“Their history for starters.”

That certainly got Vilkas talking. He was always fond of the Companions’ history as well as Skyrim’s legends; and it wasn’t often someone asked him about it. None of his shield siblings took interest in history. Vignar might but the old Greymane’s forgetfulness often ends up twisting the story into something ridiculously far from the truth.

He started with the story of Ysgramor and the Five Hundred Companion; and from there, the topic branched out to Skyrim’s legends. Her rapt interest to the subject did not help quelling his enthusiasm on it either.

In turn, she shared her own discoveries during her travels around Skyrim. One in particular was about the Archmage Gauldur who was murdered by his three sons before they stole his amulet and divided it among themselves. He never heard of such a story but apparently it was all covered up.

“The interesting thing about history,” Valere commented, “is that their survival rests on the whims of whoever is in power when it happened.” She paused and glanced up. “Oh, it’s dawn already."

Vilkas followed her gaze. “Huh… didn’t notice the time.”

“And here I was planning to take watch so you could rest.”

“It’s fine.” He shrugged. “Don’t sleep well either.”

“Bad dreams?” she asked.

“Something like that,” he replied but provided no further explanation as he stood up. “I should wake your healer friend.”

As he made his way to Colette’s tent, Valere suddenly said, “thank you.”

Vilkas paused and turned to look at her. “For what?”

She smiled softly. “Indulging my curiosities as well as listening to my ramblings.”

He laughed inwardly. “I could say the same.”

“What happened? Why am I bandaged?”

Both immediately shifted their wide gazes towards Farkas who slowly stepped out of the tent.

“Farkas!” Vilkas rushed over but stopped himself from roughing up his twin — their usual playful greeting — when he reminded himself of the other Nord’s injury. Instead he settled for a light pat on the uninjured shoulder. “It’s good you’re awake now.”

Farkas grinned then sniffed. “Why do I smell like wheat and…” He sniffed again which caused him to rub his nose with his free hand. “Garlic?” Looking over to his twin, he asked jokingly, "are you planning to cook me?”

Vilkas chuckled. “You just need a bath.”

“You're one to talk,” Farkas retorted with a grin.

“I’ll get Colette,” Valere said as she stood up.

Vilkas nodded to her and turned his head back to his brother when the Bosmer entered the Breton’s tent. “So, how are you feeling?”

“Good, I guess,” Farkas replied before his brows furrowed.

“Something wrong?” Vilkas asked.

“While I was sleeping, I saw…” Farkas paused as his brows furrowed further until a crease formed on his forehead. “I don’t know what I saw… maybe the thing Kodlak was talking about? _The Hunting Grounds_? But something… pulled me back, and…” He shook his head. “I was probably delirius or something.”

Vilkas did all he could to keep his breath even. By Ysmir! Was his brother truly that close to death?!

“Hey, I’m fine now,” Farkas said with a small smile. No doubt he heard his brother’s quickening heartbeat. When the latter returned the smile, he turned around and asked, “so could you scratch my back? The part with the bandage. It’s getting itchy.”

Vilkas hesitated, wondering if he ought to touch that part considering it was where the wound was; but seeing his twin squirm at that itching sensation, he chuckled and acquiesced. However, before his hand could reach that spot, a small bolt of lightning hit the back of his hand — not powerful to cause harm but enough to sting which resulted to him pulling away.

“Don’t you even touch that,” Colette chided, completely unperturbed by the two Nords glaring at her.

“I’d listen to her, were I you,” Valere spoke as she stood behind the Breton.

“But it’s itching,” Farkas protested.

“It’s suppose to itch,” Valere explained. “Means the herbs are working.” She paused for a moment then mused out loud, “probably the garlic.”

Farkas opened his mouth to protest again but Colette set him with a stern gaze with her lips pressed tightly together. It reminded Vilkas of the expression Tilma makes whenever any of the Companions leave behind their weapons by the entrance or when he and his brother stole sweets from the kitchen during their younger years. It was a look that left no room for excuses.

When neither of the twins spoke, Colette nodded. “Good.”

“Time to wake up the rest,” Valere chimed in to diffuse any tension left. “If we leave early, we can make it to Winterhold by afternoon.” And with that, she left the three to wake up their two other comrades.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faster than usual update ‘cause I have midterms coming up and I need to focus on it. Will work on the next chapter after midterms.


	6. Chapter 6

 

The moment the carriage arrived in Winterhold, Valere had immediately jumped down from her seat and approached the mages who were waiting for them at the foot of the bridge that led to the College. They had been informed by Colette about the group’s arrival when the Breton rode ahead of them.

“Take these crates to the Hall of Elements,” the Bosmer ordered.

“Yes, Arch-Mage,” one of the mages replied before he and the others busied themselves with their task.

She turned to her housecarl. “Lydia, you know where the guest rooms are. Go ahead and take Farkas. He still needs his rest.”

“At once, my Thane.” Lydia immediately escorted Farkas to the College.

“Marcurio,” Valere called as she shifted her attention towards the Imperial who just got off the carriage. “Make sure the apprentices don’t drop a single crate.”

“Aye, aye ma’am.” Marcurio gave a dramatic mocking salute before he left to remind the College’s students to keep their concentration while keeping the crates floating while chanting some sort of spell.

_Valere… Dragonborn… Thane of Whiterun… and now, Arch-Mage…_

Vilkas waited for someone — anyone — to announce that the Dragonborn was the famous gourmet rumored to be in Skyrim, because, considering all the titles she apparently owned, he wouldn’t be surprised now, even with her lack of cooking skills.

So many questions filled his head that he had no idea where to even begin. How did she become Arch-Mage? Since when? But, as he tried to filter the important questions, he ended up asking, “how old are you really?”

It was a sensible question, in his opinion; or at least up until she gave him a look as though he had dropped a horse dung on her feet. She quickly recovered though, and responded nonchalantly, “not old enough to be your mother; otherwise, I would’ve scolded you for asking a woman her age.”

“It’s hard to remember you’re a woman sometimes.” He tried to deliver it with a deadpan look but he couldn’t help the slight smirk.

She threw her head back and laughed. “Oh! Such cruel words!” When her laughter had died down, she asked, “so what suddenly brought this up?”

“You don’t look the part,” he replied. “Of an Arch-Mage I mean.”

She raised a brow. “Pray tell, how does one ought to look like?”

“Old, spindly elves in heavy robes.”

She snorted. “At least I got one part right.” Sighing, her hand reached up to scratch the back of her head only to lower it down once her fingers brushed against the fur hood. “I wasn’t exactly in line to become Arch-Mage.”

“What happened?” Vilkas asked.

“A Thalmor,” Valere replied then gestured a hand towards the bridge. “How about we continue this inside where we won’t freeze to death?” She didn’t wait for his response and made her way towards the bridge.

Vilkas could feel a light tingling sensation on his skin as they crossed the bridge that led to the gates. It was something he could ignore at best, find mildly annoying at worst. But as they got closer and closer, the feeling became more intense and insistent. By the time they had reached the gates, it felt like a thin blanket was covering his entire person. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant but nonetheless he found himself fidgeting in a futile attempt to shrug the invisible cloth off.

“How can you stand it?” he found himself asking the Bosmer who paused and turned to face him.

“Stand what?” Valere inquired with her head tilting slightly to the side.

“ _This_ …” His hands gestured at his body but couldn’t find the right words to explain it. “… can’t you feel it?”

She leaned forward, brows furrowing as she stared at his body intently with her thumb and forefinger rubbing her chin. “What do you feel exactly? Is it painful?”

“Not… really…” he replied as he shifted a bit. Between her scrutiny as she paced around him and whatever this is that was wrapping around his body, he couldn’t stop the slight twitch of his muscles. “There’s just something… around me…”

With a flick of her wrist, mists swirled from around his body to her hand which she then formed into a ball of light that, once released, floated above her head. “No worries. Magickal energy from the focal points,” she explained with her hand gesturing towards a well that was emitting a bluish white pillar. “Aside from it being mildly polluted, it’s perfectly natural.”

“Natural for you maybe,” he retorted with a scowl.

“Magicka is everywhere.” Her arms opened wide. “The focal points just — to put it in simple terms — gather them to enhance our magic.”

As his hand reached up to rub his face, Vilkas took a long deep sigh. He had considered giving magic a second chance and to try understanding it, but this was just _too much_ magic. Part of him wondered if he could go back on their deal and stay in the inn. Then again, his honorable side chastised him since he already gave his word — not to mention he didn’t bring enough coin with him even if he ended up deciding to pay for the accommodations himself.

Perhaps sensing his distress, the Bosmer attempted to assure him, “the guest rooms would most likely block them out.”

“ _Most likely_?” Not the most reassuring statement in his opinion.

“I wouldn’t know.” She shrugged. “No one here has ever had that kind of discomfort. Comes with being a mage, I suppose; being used to magicka surrounding us.”

“Great…” he grumbled as they continued making their way to the large door in the middle.

“This is the Hall of Elements,” Valere explained as they entered a hall leading to a large room with the same — if somewhat larger — well in the middle. One of her hands gestured towards the door on their left. “This one leads to my quarters. Should you need anything, you may see me there.”

Turning to the right side, she opened the door and climbed up the stairs with Vilkas in tow. He felt relief wash over him once the door closed behind him. At least now the heavy cloak of magicka persistently weighing around him had considerably lessened.

“And here is where the guest rooms will be,” Valere continued with her explanation. “Going further up, you will find our library — the Arcaneum. You’re free to peruse the books there. I believe we have some relating to history on the left shelves.” She halted and faced him. “All I ask is you be careful with handling them. Last student who bent the book too much suffered a broken nose and three less teeth.”

Vilkas gave her an incredulous look.. “All that for a book?’

“Urag does love his books,” she replied with a shrug. “And he did warn the student about the delicate spine.”

“And you just let him…?”

“The book dates back to the second era. It’s very old but very necessary for _every_ mage in this College no matter which school of magic they decide to focus on.” Long gone was the nonchalance in her features replaced by sternness. “Had I been given the task to discipline him that time, I would’ve left him hanging upside-down the Arcaneum’s ceiling until he learned his lesson.”

Vilkas watched her as she continued her ascent on the stairs and he couldn’t help shaking his head while muttering, “harsh.”

“Perhaps…” Valere didn’t bother turning as she spoke, “but, how would you feel if you entrusted your sword to someone who ends up breaking it in half despite telling them to take care of it?”

“Well, it is _my_ sword—”

“And these books belong to _everyone_ here in the College. A little consideration is in order, don’t you think?”

They finally stepped out of the narrow winding stairs and into a hallway. Just outside the room at the end of the hall, Lydia and Colette had been waiting for them.

“Done with the bandages?” Valere asked.

“Yes,” the Breton replied tersely and she briefly glanced over to him in the corner of her eye before adding, “I just recall something urgent I need to discuss with you.”

“Of course,” was the Bosmer’s response, and Vilkas listened intently for any changes in her pulse — or anything that would indicate that she knew something was amiss. So far, her heartbeat was normal. Still he could not relax when he caught the healer eyeing him warily.

“I’ll see you around Vilkas,” Valere said then tilted her head to the side. “Something wrong?”

“No,” he replied all too quickly, making him mentally curse himself. “Just tired.”

Valere nodded before leaving with Colette and Lydia following behind her. Vilkas stood still as he waited for their footsteps to be out of his earshot before he rushed inside to speak with his twin.

“Farkas!” Vilkas called once the door shut behind him. Still on the bed, his brother looked over. “What happened?”

Farkas’ brows furrowed. “What?”

“With the healer.”

“Nothing.” Farkas paused. “At least I don’t think so… She was healing me earlier but then she just stopped.”

“Did she say anything?” Vilkas asked.

“Just that I could take off this damnable sling after a week and can start swinging my sword the week after that,” Farkas replied.

Vilkas’ lips formed a deep frown. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, judging by his brother’s story; but the Breton shouldn’t look too tense just after examining his twin.

“Here, something to relax you.”

Snapping out from his thoughts, Vilkas looked over to his twin who had reached for one of the bottles of Nord mead on the side table with his free hand.

“My gut says something’s wrong,” he told his brother but nonetheless accepted the offered drink before uncorking it and then taking a long swig.

Farkas took another mead from the table and uncorked with his teeth. After spitting the cork on the floor, he replied, “and my gut says you’re over-thinking things again.”

“Just being cautious.” Vilkas sighed. “But, you’re probably right.”

_Gods, I hope you’re right…_

~oOo~

“So what's this urgent matter you wanted to discuss?” Valere asked once she and the two women following her entered the large room of the Arch-Mage’s quarters.

“It’s about our injured guest,” Colette replied as she sat down on a chair beside a table.

With the flick of her wrist, Valere beckoned a cup from the one of the cabinets then had it floating towards the table. She strode over to the small garden in the middle of the room and picked a few ingredients from her plants. “Lydia,” she called. “Could you please get—”

“It’s here,” the housecarl replied as she approached her Thane with the flagon in hand.

“Did you—”

“Filled it with water, yes.”

“Thank you.” Valere smiled softly at her housecarl’s efficiency. When the latter removed the lid, she filled it with the ingredients she picked before moving her hand below the flagon and traced a glyph with her forefinger. In a matter of seconds, an orange glow appeared at the bottom as steam rose from the top.

“Here you go.” Valere poured some tea on the Breton’s cup then to hers. She offered the flagon to her housecarl but the latter politely declined before moving to the other end of the room.

“So, what about Farkas?” the Bosmer asked as she sat down on the chair across the Breton. “Any complications?”.

“None at all,” Collete replied. “In fact, he’ll have fully recovered in two weeks.”

“Impressive.”

“Can’t say it was my doing.”

Valere raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

Colette took a slow sip of her tea. Once she set it back down on the table, she explained, “normally, an injury like that should take more than a month to recover, even with healing magic.”

“What’s this?” Valere grinned. “Doubting your skills?”

“Of course not!” Colette huffed. “Had it been just that, I might not have consider anything unusual.”

“What else did you discover?’

“The bones feel like, well… they were used to breaking.”

“He’s a warrior.” Valere shrugged. “No doubt he had broken a few bones every now and then.”

“Unless he’s breaking them every five minutes, it shouldn’t feel like that,” Colette replied. “I’ve been healing all sorts of injuries for years — had even manage to mend a seasoned warrior’s fractured leg. This one feels… unnatural.”

Valere momentarily remained silent as she sipped her tea. There must be an explanation behind it all. “Is it possible that a potion could’ve done that?”

Colette shook her head. “He hasn’t drunk any since we left that fort.” Leaning forward, she added, “one thing I’m certain is that magic is at work here.”

Valere considered the Breton’s words as the latter finished her tea. _Are those two keeping a secret_ , she wondered but then mentally shook her head. If they did, it was none of her concern. Still, Colette wouldn’t bring this up if it wasn’t _that_ odd. Her colleague had seen a fair share of strangeness over the years. “Assuming this information is relevant—”

“It is!”

The Arch-Mage raised her hand to silence Colette. “— what exactly do you want me to do with it?”

“What you do with it is up to you,” the Breton replied as she stood up. “I’m just providing you with all the facts. After the incident with the Eye—”

“Colette, _don’t_.” Valere warned. She was in no mood to discuss the matter, let alone remember it.

But Colette seemed to ignore her order. “You once said yourself. If we only had enough information, we could’ve prevented the incident, even prevented Mirabelle’s—”

“ _Enough_.” Valere stood abruptly, startling both the Breton and even the Nord on the other end. The image of Mirabelle’s lifeless body made her chest clench tightly. It took great effort to keep herself together. Calmly — almost coldly — she stated, “thank you for the information Colette. You may go now.”

Good that the other mage got the message and left her quarters. Once it was just her and her housecarl, she sat back down on the chair and leaned back as she took a long heavy sigh. Her eyes closed momentarily, willing away the melancholic thoughts by mentally listing the duties that needed attending. When she opened her eyes, she found Lydia standing beside, the latter’s features soft.

“Would you like some warm bath?” the Nord woman asked.

Valere gave a small smile. “Thank you.” She was grateful her housecarl didn’t prod her about her sudden outburst. “Tub and screen are—”

“I know,” Lydia replied as she poured some more tea on her cup then strode to the storage room where the tub and privacy screen were kept.

Valere sat silently and drank her tea. It helped calming her mind at least, and process the information Colette had given without the emotional entanglement that came along with the conversation. _A curious thing_ , she thought, wondering what could have caused it.

 _Something to look into when I have the time_ , she told herself before setting down the cup and approached the tub once Lydia announced that it was ready.

~oOo~

For the first week, Vilkas spent most of his time keeping his brother company, knowing how frustrated the latter is for not being able to train. He never felt comfortable leaving the room. The prickling sensation of magic against his skin was not something he could get used to. The only times he did were during mealtime — which he often just get a plate of food for him and his brother then head straight back to the room — and visiting the loo. It could get boring at some point but thankfully, there were books on the nearby shelves.

Every now and then, Colette would come up and check on Farkas injuries. Vilkas could hear her pulse quickening slightly and caught her shoulders tensing, but the woman never said anything; neither did the Dragonborn ever brought it up. In fact, it was almost a week since she last visited.

 _Probably busy_ , he mused while recalling Colette and one of the apprentices she brought along with her talking about the Arch-Mage being busy with enchanting the armors along with a man named Sergius.

Speaking of the apprentice, said mage — a blonde Breton — had just entered their room without her mentor. “Magister Colette is currently busy,” she explained as she made her way towards the bed. “So I was tasked to check on your injury, if it’s all right?”

“Sure. No problem.” Farkas replied.

Vilkas stared at his twin as though some he had just been possessed by some evil spirit. It was then he took notice that his twin was practically ogling at the woman while her delicate fingers hovered above the injured shoulder.

 _Hircine’s hairy balls!_ He wanted to smack some sense back to his brother but then again, the Breton was a lovely young lass, having a petite but curvaceous body — definitely Farkas type. Why didn’t he even notice it this past few days was baffling. Partly his fault perhaps for being too focused on Colette.

“Have you ever visited the town Ser Farkas?” the apprentice asked.

Farkas shook his head. “Not really. Not sure what’s there to see.”

“True,” the apprentice replied. “But the Frozen Hearth serves excellent drinks.”

“Really?”

She smiled and nodded. “Would you like to see?” She shifted her gaze to Vilkas. “You can come too Ser Vilkas.”

Vilkas caught his brother side-glancing towards him. He knew that look his twin was giving him and he had half a mind to suggest coming along; but he figured that said trip would have those two in one of the inn’s rooms. “You go on ahead. I think I’ll stay here,” he told his brother while waving a book.

“Okay.” Farkas didn’t even bother masking his relief and excitement as he eagerly stood up and followed the Breton towards the door. “See you later brother.”

Once the door shut, Vilkas took a deep sigh. Now what was he going to do? To be honest, he had just finished reading the book a few hours ago and the rest of the books on the shelves were either books he had already read or books about magic.

Then he remembered the library Valere mentioned to him. _What was it called? Arcae-something?_ He considered his options. No harm in making a quick trip, he supposed. Just get one or two books and hurry back to the room. And so, he left their room and climbed up the stairs leading to his destination.

As he stepped into the library, he prepared himself for the same uncomfortable sensation wrapping around his body; but surprisingly, nothing. He sighed in relief before taking in his surroundings.

To call this place impressive would be the understatement of the ear. Endless books filled the numerous tall bookshelves lined against the wall. Slowly, Vilkas approached the center of the enormous room and towards the large desk. An Orc sat on a chair behind it while intently reading on a book.

A part of Vilkas couldn’t help but wonder if it was some sort of illusion magic to frighten the young apprentices. He didn’t get much opportunity to ponder on the matter as the presumed librarian noticed his presence and stood.

“You’re not one of the students,” the Orc said as his eyes narrowed.

“I’m not,” Vilkas replied curtly, returning the sharp glare with the same intensity.

The Orc remained silent for a moment, then stated, “right. You must be one of the Arch-Mage’s guests. She said something about one checking some books.” He jerked his head to the left side. “History section’s over there.” He then leaned forward and added, “but I don’t want to see you mistreating any of these books. If I so much as see a tear, I’m going to throw you out from the roof. Are we clear?”

Vilkas had half a mind to defy the Orc for daring to threaten him; but then he remembered Valere’s words. Allowing him to borrow books here meant that she’s entrusting him with her weapons — her _sword_. And that made him acquiesced and respond, “crystal.”

Once the Orc had settled back down on his seat, Vilkas strode towards the history section. He skimmed through some books but nothing seemed to catch his attention, up until…

“Experimentations in the Physicalities of Werewolves,” he mumbled while staring at the title. His thoughts turned to Kodlak and his research. _Perhaps I can find something here that could help_ , he mused as he sat down on the nearest chair then began flipping through the pages.

What he found, however, made his stomach churn. Brutal experiments performed by some sick man that he swore to the gods he would strangle with his bare hands if he ever gets the chance to meet him.

Despite his urge to throw the book across the wall, he returned it properly then continued with searching the shelves; but this time, his goal was to find more texts relating to lycanthropy. So focused was he with the task that when he pulled out another book, he hadn’t noticed that someone’s standing behind him until turned around.

“Good book?” the Arch-Mage asked.

**END OF CHAPTER**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I couldn't resist. I just had to write this. Thankfully, I'm done with my first exam and I have some few moments to concentrate on this chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

 

Vilkas jumped back, hitting the shelves behind him. Books fell out but were suspended in the air before they could hit the ground. He could hear the slight creak of the chair and caught a glimpse of the librarian standing up from his seat, glaring towards his direction.

“Apologies Urag,” Valere said as she leaned her head forward, stray strands of auburn hair brushing against her cheek while the rest were held into a loose bun. With a flick of her wrist returned the floating books back to the shelves. “The fault was mine.”

The Orc — Urag — grumbled something incoherent under his breath but sat back down and returned to his book.

 _Gods! This elf is going to be the death of me!_ Vilkas swore under his breath as he tried to calm his racing heart. He ought to have picked up her scent. Then again, part of it always smelled like parchments, so it would be difficult to detect her; plus, he was far too focused with his task to pick up the other part of her scent which was a hint of jazbay grapes.

“I hope I didn’t startle you too much,” Valere said as she turned her gaze back to the Nord. In response, the latter’s eyes narrowed as he noticed the faint twitching of her lips.

Her gaze then shifted towards the book he was holding. “ _Lycanthropy_ … interesting topic.”

Vilkas’ muscles tensed slightly as he glanced down at the object he held. He feigned nonchalance by shrugging. “Casual reading.”

“Hn.” Valere’s gaze remained on the book. “A little morbid for casual reading.” Thankfully, she dropped the subject and strode towards the Orc’s desk.

Vilkas returned to the chair he previously sat on and tried to read; but he couldn’t focus on the books’ contents when he knew the Bosmer was just lurking nearby. There was something about her last statement that made him wary. _Does she know about…_ He shook his head. Impossible! There’s no way for her to know unless she actually saw them transforming.

 _Unless…_ His grip on the book tightened as he recalled Colette’s sudden tense reaction days ago. Did she somehow discovered something while healing Farkas? It could explain the Breton’s uneasiness towards his twin; but the Arch-Mage didn’t give any the same reaction. In fact, she seemed like her usual laid-back self, judging by the way she lounged on a chair beside a table next to his while reading a book.

Vilkas sighed. Perhaps he’s being paranoid again; but then, he’d rather be a touch paranoid then find himself face down a ditch. If she ever bring up the matter, he would just feign ignorance, he decided.

“This is incomprehensible.” He heard the Bosmer’s voice which caused him to glance over towards the Orc’s desk. “Who wrote this?”

“Septimus Signus,” Urag replied then muttered under his breath, “a bit of a nutcase that one.”

“I noticed.” Valere sighed. “Any other Elder Scrolls specialist you can recommend?”

 _Elder Scrolls…_ That certainly piqued Vilkas’ interest. It certainly sounds important.

Urag shrugged. “None that are in Skyrim. You can try your luck with the Moth Priests in Cyrodiil.”

“Yeaaaah… no.”

“Thought so.”

Again, another heavy sigh came out of the Bosmer’s lips while she scratched the back of her head. “So, where can I find him?”

“He went somewhere up north,” Urag replied. “Not sure if he’d still be there though. Been a long time since I last saw him.”

“It’s fine,” Valere said immediately. “Any lead’s better than none at all.”

“All right. Get your map and I’ll mark it down.”

The Bosmer nodded before she immediately left the Arcaenuem. It took her several minutes but when she returned, she was geared up in her leather armor and fur cloak. “All right. Show me where it is,” she said as she handed the map.

“You’re going? Now?” Urag gestured a hand towards the window at the other end of the room. “It’s snowing out there. Really bad.”

Valere turned towards the window and fell silent as she watched the flurry of snow that obscured the view. Vilkas hoped that she had enough sensibility; but apparently, she was still lacking in that area as she responded with a shrug.

“I’ve been through worse.” Unrolling the map on the Orc’s desk, she asked, “so, where can I find him?”

“You can’t be serious!” Both Urag and Vilkas exclaimed as they abruptly got up from their respective chairs; though the Arch-Mage’s gaze focused on the Nord.

Vilkas knew he should feel embarrassed for eavesdropping but the overwhelming lack of common sense from the elf pushed those aside. “Do you have a death wish?”

“Not as if it hasn’t snowed like that in Winterhold,” Valere replied. “Plus, better to do this now than later and find him dead.”

Vilkas scoffed. “He could also be dead by now and you’ll just get yourself killed while looking for him.”

Barely suppressing a grin, Valere gasped dramatically as she placed a hand on her chest. “Oh my… are you worried about lil o’ me? I’m flattered.”

“That’s not what I meant!” he protested; though, in the back of his mind, he wondered why he was getting so worked up about it. If the elf wants to throw herself towards Oblivion, that’s her business..

His mind scrambled for some excuse — any excuse. Then he remembered the job he was hired to do. Crossing his arms over his chest, he answered, “if this is your way of getting out of your debt, I’m not letting you step foot outside this room.”

Valere’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying I’d rather die than pay my debts?”

Vilkas observed her reaction intently. Did he just struck a nerve? Good. He’d rather they focus on this. “Looks that way.” He smirked. “Bet your business partners would want to hear that sordid little detail.”

She leaned forward with one hand behind her ear. “Is that… _blackmail_ I hear? This, from the _honorable_ Companion? I am utterly shocked.”

He snorted. “I hear you complaining but I don’t hear you denying it.”

Sparks crackled on her fingers and he prepared himself for a fight, but Urag suddenly cut in. “Hey! Kill each other somewhere else!”

The magic from the Arch-Mage’s hand immediately dissipated and the Nord returned to a more relaxed stature; though the two still glared at each other.

“How about this,” Valere suggested. “Since you’re so inclined on keeping me alive, then come with me to Septimus’ outpost.”

“How about you wait for the snowstorm to calm down?” Vilkas retorted.

“Oh, I see.” Valere smirked. “Mister ‘ _I-can-handle-the-cold_ ’ finds a bit of snowstorm to be too frigid for his liking.”

“Of course not!” Vilkas scoffed but regretted his instinctive reaction as he noticed the Dragonborn’s broad grin.

“So you’ll come then.”

Damn her! And damn his pride! His jaws clenched tightly as he said through gritted teeth, “fine…”

The Arch-Mage turned to the Orc. “There. I have someone to drag my ass back here if things go south.”

Urag sighed. “Fine. Your funeral.” He reached for the quill on the inkwell and marked the location.

“Thank you.” Valere smiled before looking over to the Nord. “Go ahead and get ready. I’ll wait for you here.”

Vilkas hurried back to his room and put on his armor as fast as could then grabbed his greatsword. As he returned to the Arcaneum, he half-expected the elf to be on her way down the bridge and he would have to chase her; but she waited for him in the library as promised and… By the Gods! She’s skimming through the last book he took from the shelves earlier. Perhaps, the snowstorm would be preferable if it would get her far away from this place — at least until she forgets all about it.

Clearing his throat, he approached in front of her where he blocked the light from the wall sconce. It was rude, he knew, but he needed her to stop before she delves deeper into the book’s contents.

Her brows furrowed before glancing up, and they rose as she gazed at him. “That was quick.”

“The sooner we’re done with this, the better,” he muttered gruffly.

“Right.” She set the book down on the table and sent her farewells to Urag before climbing down the staircase with the Nord in tow

Passing by the well in the courtyard, Vilkas quickened his pace as he ignored the powerful wind whipping against his cheeks. He could barely see anything in front of him with the flurry of snow obscuring his vision. It was thanks to his heightened senses that he could keep track of the Dragonborn’s scent.

He was happy to put some distance between him and the College though; especially when he began to feel the invisible cloth of magicka enveloping his entire person. However, just as they stepped out of the gate, the Bosmer stopped and faced the sea.

“What are you—” he asked but she raised a hand to silence him before taking a deep breath.

“ _Lok, Vah, Koor!_ ”

The whirlwind of snow stilled and howling winds silenced. The grey clouds above parted and gave way to the bright sun. All Vilkas could do then was gawk at the sky then at her.

Catching his reaction, Valere raised a brow. “You really think I would rush into a snowstorm without a plan?”

“You could’ve said… _something_.”

“That I shout at the sky until it provides me a good weather? Oh, that would certainly do well for my credibility as well as my sanity!”

Vilkas sighed. “I see your point.” He followed her as they continued down the bridge. As they passed behind the Jarl’s longhouse, it only occurred to him that Lydia wasn’t around — a strange thing since all the housecarls he knew would never leave their Thane’s side as much as possible. “Where’s your housecarl?”

“You’re full of random questions, aren’t you?”

“And you’re not?”

“Fair point.” Valere, however, waited for them to be far from the town before she answered, “the Jarl requested her help in dealing with some bandits.”

“Shouldn’t he be asking you instead?” Vilkas asked. “You’re the Dragonborn.”

“I am also the Arch-Mage, and that man just _loves_ the College. When he heard that I brought along a _Nord warrior_ who doesn’t _do magic_ , he immediately summoned her.” Shrugging, she added, “killing bandits is for a good cause at least, so I always let her when she asks for my permission.”

“Why the animosity?”

“The Great Collapse,” Valere explained, “if I recall the details correctly, roughly one hundred years ago, monstrous waves from the Sea of Ghost battered the city, destroying most of its districts. One of the few buildings left standing is the College, allegedly protected by magic.” Her lips formed a deep scowl. “Apparently, it was enough evidence to accuse us of causing it.”

“And yet, the Jarl lets you stay,” Vilkas said as his brows furrowed, forming a crease on his forehead.

“Indeed!” Valere barked out a laugh that would’ve given away their position had there been wild animals nearby. “As much as Jarl Korir hates us, he can’t deny that the levy our College pays is more than half of what the rest of the townspeople’s taxes are. If he boots us out, I doubt he can buy enough supplies to feed his guards.”

“Cold civility for gold then.”

“Pretty much, though he would never publicly admit it.” She scoffed and muttered under her breath, “hypocrite.”

“Better hope your College doesn’t run out of coin then.”

“I doubt we would.” She grinned. “Enchanter Sergius once said, “we can blow up the entire region of the Reach and people would still come to us for enchantment” — figuratively speaking of course. I have no intentions of letting anyone — including myself — reduce Skyrim into ashes.”

And here it was again — the question that had been lingering at the back of Vilkas’ mind for days now. “Why do you care so much? You’re not even native to Skyrim.”

“Apologies for giving the wrong impression,” Valere replied without so much as a pause from marching down the snowy slope.

Vilkas tilted his head to the side as he raised a brow. “That you care?”

“That I am not native.”

That certainly had him stopping abruptly while the Bosmer continued her way down the path. He blinked for a moment as his brain processed her words. “You are?”

“Born and raised in Helgen.”

“The one that got destroyed?”

Her lips stretched but the smile did not reached her eyes. “What a perfect landmark! Why, yes, it is! ‘Burned down by a dragon’ would be a more accurate term for it though.”

The sharp edge in her voice told Vilkas that he had hit on something raw. It made him regret asking the last question. Stupid! He should’ve held his tongue; but during that time, he was still trying to wrap his hand around the new information.

It wasn’t as if he had never seen her kind in Skyrim — the brothers owning the meat stall in the marketplace and the Drunken Huntsman were an example; just that, the way she moved, he would associate her as someone who had been a native of either High Rock, Cyrodiil or even the Summerset Isles. It was a certain kind of grace that would fit better in a court rather than the battlefield.

Perhaps it was her years of training as a mage — their type usually had some sort of flair for the dramatic when casting; but her movements were more precise and purposeful. It could also be her archery training, wherever she got that. She always had that kind of dexterity said skill offers once mastered. Or maybe, it could be a combinations of both, thus creating a unique style of fighting which was just captivating—

 _Shor’s bones! What am I thinking!?_ Vilkas wanted to yell and throw his hands up in the air if not for the presence of another person — even if she was walking ahead of him. He settled for a low growl as he quickened his pace, catching up to the Bosmer’s quick strides. She didn’t seem to notice his internal distress at least, thank the Divines.

With the last topic leaving a tense air around the two, the hours of trekking was unbearably awkward. The only time the two communicated was when trolls or bears were spotted, and when they passed by the shore occupied by horkers. They never fought the latter, however. Instead, Valere casted some spell she explained later was an illusion spell.

“To calm them,” she said once they were far away. “My guess is that they see us as fellow horkers.”

“They would still be there when we take that path again,” Vilkas commented. “Would’ve been easier if we just killed them now than later.”

“Well, that’s just unnecessary.”

“Would you rather be their next meal?”

“They wouldn’t eat us.” She paused briefly. “Okay, maybe they would, but their first reason for attacking is because we entered their territory.”

“So if a bear attacks us, it’s just being protective of its home.” He scoffed. “Bears have taken over Skyrim and no one even realized it.”

“They attacks us whether we’re trespassing their cave or walking down the road,” she argued. “Horkers would pretty much leave you alone if you stay far enough from their home and not provoke them.”

He sighed. “They’re just animals, you know.”

“And that makes it okay to kill them for sport? Should I do the same with a random citizen?”

“People are different.”

“How so?”

“We can think—”

“So can animals.”

“—but not like us. Their minds are only limited to their instincts.”

“So you’re saying they’re stupid?”

“Yes!”

“A foolish person then has no right to live.”

“No!”

“You agreed to the statement yourself,” Valere stated in a matter-of-fact tone. “Those that are stupid ought to die.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Vilkas sighed heavily as his gauntleted hand rubbed his face. This elf is just utterly frustrating! “Why do you kill dragons then?”

For a moment, he thought he finally won their argument as Valere remained silent while she gaze at him. But then, she replied, “because it’s the only way to stop them from taking more lives.”

The Bosmer turned away as she continued walking along the shoreline, but Vilkas caught a glimpse of somberness in her features. Does she… regret killing them? _A strange thing to hear from a famed Dragonslayer_ , he thought but then realized, as he pondered on their conversation, that while he disagrees with her dubious methods of dealing with situations, he couldn’t deny admiring her gentle soul — at least within the confines of his mind.

Valere halted and unfolded her map. “So we came from here…” Her finger traced the path from the College to the marked area. “To here.”

Vilkas stood beside her as he gazed intently at the parchment then towards the large body of water that they needed to cross.. “We need a boat.”

She scowled. “We can’t go back now. We’re so close.”

“What do you want us to do? Swim?”

“Well…” The Bosmer responded with a small grin and Vilkas had to throw his hands up in the air.

“By the Gods!”

Valere glanced around and then pointed a finger towards the group of floating ice leading towards their destination. “We can cross using that.”

“Are you just- I can’t even-“ Vilkas opened and closed his mouth as he tried to come up with the perfect word to describe her insanity. “No. Just. No!”

With the way the elf stared at her intended path, he thought he might have to knock her out and drag her unconscious body back to the College. Thank the Divines when she replied, “all right.”

Sighing in relief, he turned around and walked ahead, eager to return to the College where things made more sense than the Bosmer’s demented plan—

Something hit his back, causing him to fall flat on the ground. He tried to sit up but found his limbs unable to move. “Son of a bitch!”

“I apologize for this Vilkas,” he heard Valere speak and he was thankful that he could still tilt his head up to glare at her.

“What are you—”

“The paralysis spell will wear off after a few minutes, I promise,” she added and began chanting another spell.

“Fuck you!” he growled. He could feel the beast roaring inside him as he continued his attempts to struggle despite his body’s unresponsiveness. “I swear, when I get my hands on you—”

A portal opened in front of her as a frost atronach stepped out. “Keep him safe,” he heard the Bosmer give her instruction to the creature. “And one final thing, don’t... Attack... Him. Understand?”

In response, the atronach bent forward its body before Valere made her way to the floating ice.

“I hope you drown!” Vilkas yelled despite her completely ignoring his curses because it was all he could do then. Damn her! He takes it all back. He hates that elf and her stupid magic! And when she comes back, he swears to the Gods he’ll do… _something_!

 

**END OF CHAPTER**

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took longer. Law school had kept me really busy and this chapter proved to be a bit difficult to write, and I wanted to do it right so I was extra careful in writing this. Anyway, my updates will come slower but it will come, I promise.

Vilkas didn't know why he had stayed after the spell wore off. He should have just left the moment he regained control on his limbs. The huge lump of walking ice hadn't been inclined on stopping him — judging by the way it remained standing still on the shore. But he didn't and instead had watched the elf jump from one floating ice to another with his heart suffering from a mild heart attack with each leap.

He was angry — furious — with what she had done. It might not be a big deal to some — he wasn't even injured, true; but that wasn't the point! She was supposed to be different from the mages he had encountered; he thought she was. Did he expect too much? He was always the wary one amongst the Companions. When he trusted her, he was sure that he had put his faith on the right person.

Vilkas had to scoff at that.  _Shows what I know..._

The beast inside him pleasantly reveled in this raging emotions; he could feel it trying to claw its way out. The increasing twitching in his muscles was an indication of how close it was to succeeding. It wanted to tear her out and gnaw at her flesh.

One part of him wanted to just let the werewolf take over and let it kill her; but the other part held it back because despite loathing her cowardice and betrayal, something held him back from losing her company. It was only with Kodlak that he had been able to share his passion for history and not as much when the Harbinger had begun to spend most of his time on research for a cure.

He wondered then if this friendship they had even meant anything to her. Were they even friends or was it just one-sided? Maybe he was delusional, and this might just be civility at best, at worst—

Vilkas' jaws clenched tightly. Could it be she was just manipulating him? Could it be that all this interest in his opinions were mere pretense just so he would dance to her tune?

 _Stupid! Stupid!_  He cursed himself as his fists clenched and unclenched. He wanted to tear something — anything! But then Kodlak's voice echoed inside his head, reminding him to control the beast — that he was better than a rabid animal.

Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply. It had calmed him but then the hurt would surface and he just couldn't bear it so he would replace it with rage. This cycle continued until he caught a glimpse of an approaching boat.

~oOo~

Valere climbed out from where Septimus had been holed up all these years. Frigid air greeted her so she pulled the fur cloak tighter around her after securing a sphere and lexicon inside her satchel.

The man who supposedly had answers was nearly as incomprehensible as his book. The only things that made sense were the sphere being some sort of key and a place called 'Blackreach'. Had Vilkas been around, he might have punched some sense to the crazed Imperial.

_Vilkas…_

Valere frowned at the churning in her stomach. It was a difficult choice but nonetheless a necessary one; she couldn't leave when she was so close to finding answers. If she had continued to argue, he would have most likely knocked her out and carried her back to College like a sack of potatoes.

 _What is worth it then?_ Her inner voice questioned. In her defense, he wasn't technically injured by her spell and she made certain that he would be properly protected while immobile; however, it was never about that. He trusted her and her magic but she used it against him. After everything they went through, she just threw it all away, thinking this was for the greater good — to save this world from Alduin.

She had to scoff at that. The information she got wasn't even worth sacrificing what they had now.

 _Stupid, stupid!_  She scolded herself before letting out a heavy sigh. No doubt, he had returned to the College once the spell wore off — probably packing his and Farkas' things and heading back to Whiterun.

"What's done is done. No use moping about it." Sighing heavily, she straightened herself up before scanning the area. Her gaze landed on the boat by the shore, most likely the one the loon had used to get here.  _Well, he's not going to need it anytime soon_ , she thought as she pushed the boat to the cold water then jumped onto it before her lower legs grew numb.

As she paddled closer to the shore on the other side, her eyes squinted and spotted the familiar Companion armor. Vilkas stood by the seaside still accompanied by the atronach she had summoned.

"Vilkas…" She jumped off the boat and approached him; the lesser daedra disappeared into a portal with the casual wave of her hand.

The Nord greeted her with an icy stare. "I see you're not dead."

Valere sighed. "Listen, I had to—"

"Yeah,  _you had to_  attack me just after I turned my back—"

"I had to do what was necessary."

"Since when did attacking an ally became necessary?!"

"The spell was harmless! A mild paralysis spell that—"

"That's not the point!" With just a few quick strides, Vilkas was towering over her, breathing heavily as he clenched his fists. "Tell me, was it worth it?"

And there, that question presented itself up again; this time however, Valere could no longer ignore it.

She glanced up and met the Nord's sharp gaze. He took deep breaths but added nothing else. It looked as though he was trying to hold back something. Whatever it was, she wasn't certain.

To be honest, she didn't know what to answer. He opened his mind to magic, put great effort to understand it; yet, she repaid it with betrayal. She had just proved to him that all of his preconceptions of mages were right. However, he ought to understand that this was a decision she had not taken so lightly. Had that been the case, doubt and guilt wouldn't be gnawing at her right now.

In the end, she lowered her head and muttered, "I'm sorry. This was… an unfortunate choice I had to make."

"Is that all my effort are worth?"

Her head snapped back up. "What!? No!" She meant what she said. Couldn't he see that she had to make a difficult decision? Her lips parted to explain further but halted when he had raised his hands.

"Stop. Just…" He took a deep breath. "Don't bother."

And there, in that brief moment, the mask of disdain cracked and behind it she caught a glimpse of hurt and disappointment.

"Vilkas…" Her hand reached out, but he stepped back until he was at arms length.

It was futile; in one decision, she had destroyed everything they worked hard to build. Lowering her hands, she sighed. "We should head back…" Catching his wary gaze, she walked ahead the path back to Winterhold.

~oOo~

Careful not to wake the Breton up, Farkas slowly maneuver her arms off his chest. She shifted a little but nonetheless remained asleep. After putting on his tunic and breeches, he exited the room to buy a bottle of ale. He figured that it was past midnight by now, judging by the lack of customers. The door then opened and his brows raised at the sight of his brother entering with his pack slung over his shoulder.

"Vilkas."

His brother merely responded with a grunt as he strode past him and towards the innkeeper. "How much's one room?"

"For how long?" The innkeeper asked.

"One week," Vilkas replied.

"Three hundred."

Vilkas let out a low groan but nonetheless took a coin pouch from his pack and placed them on top of the table.

While the innkeeper counted the coins, Farkas approached his twin. "You're sleeping here?"

"Yeah…" Vilkas muttered.

Farkas' brows furrowed. "Why?"

His brother did not provide any answer as the innkeeper led him to the empty room. Yet he caught the tensing of the other Nord's shoulders when he asked that question; so he followed him.

Once the innkeeper had stepped out and the door shut, he asked, "brother, what—"

"Tired," Vilkas replied tersely as he sat down on the bed. While resting his elbows on his lap, he covered his face with his hands as he let out a deep sigh. "Just… tired."

Farkas knew that he wasn't the bright one but even he could see that something was bothering his brother. However, given the other Nord's state, this was something that couldn't be talked about sober. "Ale or mead?" he asked as he offered a small smile.

Vilkas glanced up with furrowed brows at first then shook his head. "It's fine. I don't need—"

"Yeah, you do. You look like shit." Farkas didn't wait for his brother's protest as he stepped out of the room only to return a minute later with two bottles in hand.

Setting it down on the table, he said, "here, take your pick."

Sighing, Vilkas took the bottle of Nord mead. "If this is your way to get me to talk—"

"Just a drink brother, I swear," Farkas replied as he uncorked his ale.

The two siblings shared several bottles; all the while, Vilkas remained silent as to his distress. Farkas didn't push; he wasn't good with subtlety and he knew that any attempt would just make his twin close off.

"Don't know which is worse here.." Vilkas' statement came out a little slurred. Pausing for a moment, he finished his ninth bottle then added, "the cold or the College."

 _A good place to start_ , Farkas thought. "What's wrong with the College?"

Vilkas scoffed. " _Everything_ , that's what! Can't even trust them mages living up there."

Was this the reason he left the College? Why he's this upset? "I thought you were okay with them." Farkas said with his brows furrowing. "On the way to Winterhold, weren't you getting along with Valere—" And right then, he noticed the sudden tension in his brother's shoulders.

"Don't even mention that arrogant, selfish, backstabbing—"

"Ser Farkas?"

The twins paused from their conversation as they heard the call of Farkas' Breton companion through the thin walls from the room next to theirs. Vilkas scowled but shook his head as he set down his bottle on the table. "I'm going to bed,' he said as he lay down on the bed.

The statement brook no argument so Farkas just sighed and left his brother. At least he knew where to begin asking.

~oOo~

In the Archmage's quarters, Valere sat beside one of the tables as she read — or rather stared — at the same paragraph for almost an hour now. The incident yesterday continued its pestering at the edges of her consciousness; yet, she was at a loss on what to do. She apologized, but he rejected it. There was nothing she could do at point except to move on.

But she just… couldn't. The thought of throwing away the friendship they had started to build made her chest tighten and it just pushed her to think of a solution to fix this mess.

"Valere. Are you listening?"

The Archmage snapped out and glanced up to where Marcurio stood, one open book in hand. "I'm sorry," she said with a small sheepish grin. "Could you repeat that?"

The Imperial's brow twitched. "You want me to repeat  _everything_  I said for the last ten minutes?"

"I was… focused on something else."

"Are you feeling well, my Thane?" Lydia who sat on a chair nearby paused from sharpening her blade with a whetstone and regarded her with furrowed brows.

"I am," Valere replied. "You needn't concern yourself."

Marcurio scowled then took a deep breath. "To summarize, I saw a volume that mentions a place called  _FalZhardum Din_."

The Bosmer tilted her head to the side. "Which is…?"

" _FalZhardum Din_  translates to 'Blackest Kingdom Reaches'. This could be the same place." He dropped the book on top of what she was supposed to be reading. "Here, look at this."

Following where the Imperial's finger was pointing, Valere read the paragraph, " _I have found in a small number of ruins reference to a geological anomaly or place known as "FalZhardum Din". This is intriguing because the term not only appears in a few tablet fragments, but very specifically on ornate metal frames in the deepest reaches of the Strongholds Alftand, Irkgnthand and Mzinchaleft of Skyrim. I have yet to decipher the meaning of these elaborate carvings, but consider it highly strange that they occur in the deepest part of each of these ruin_ …"

Tilting her head up, she said, "I've never been to any of these ruins. Do you know where they are?"

"I might have heard about them…"

Valere waited but no answer came. "And…?"

"And I'm not telling you," Marcurio replied. "Not right now at least."

Gods knew where she got the will to remain composed but she kept her voice even as she spoke, "the fate of this world rests upon that information and you're not telling me? Pray tell,  _my trusty pack-mule_ , are you drunk or did an apprentice's spell manage to addle you're brain?"

"Resorting to insults won't get you the answer. Besides…" He crossed his arms. "If I tell you now, you'd be sneaking out in the middle of the night and head straight there on your own. I'm doing you and this world a favor."

"I have a plan."

Marcurio snorted. "An idea you come up with on the spot is  _not_  a plan.."

Lydia stood up. "Marcurio—"

The Imperial raised a hand. "Oh no, you're not talking me out of this." Still glaring at the Bosmer, he continued, "I went along with your 'plans' because it's usually either that or get eaten or skewered."

Valere stood as her narrowed eyes matched his sharp stare. "I'm the Dragonborn. I have to take the risks no one else can."

"Yes." He raised his hands as his fingers air-quoted. " _To save the world_ … but do you really think you can save anyone as a rotting corpse in the middle of a ruin? You know what your problem is? You get too focused on your goals that you forget everyone else!"

"So I should just, what, watch the world burn?"

"No. We expect you to consider those people who cares what might happen to you." Both mages turned to Lydia, her lips curled into a deep scowl. The Nord's eyes widened, however, after realizing what she had stated and frantically added, "forgive me. I spoke out of turn."

Marcurio shook his head before turning around and heading towards the stairs. "You talk some sense into her. Call me back when she has regain some sanity."

Once his footsteps were out of earshot, Valere turned her attention towards the Nord. "You never voiced out any complaints before…"

"I am your housecarl."

Valere sighed. "You have always been free to speak your mind Lydia."

"All I meant is that I respect your judgment, my Tha—"

"No need for formality. It's just us now and I speak to you as a friend, not as a Thane."

Lydia took a deep breath. "Valere."

The Bosmer's features softened. "Go on. Speak your mind."

"With all due respect," the housecarl began her hesitant explanation. "Marcurio has a fair point. It would not help if you rush into danger alone and with just an impromptu plan."

Valere took a deep breath as she pushed her hair back. "I just need to finish this as soon as possible before—" The image of Helgen with its burnt buildings and piles of dead bodies flashed in her mind. Forcing down the lump on her throat, she continued, "— before more lives are lost."

"Their deaths weren't your fault."

"I have the power to stop Alduin—"

"You hadn't known then."

"Doesn't change the fact that I could've made a difference. Had I not taken my time on the road, maybe—"

"—maybe you would have ended up dead like everyone there, and we have no one to stop the World-Eater." Lydia stood up and placed a hand on the Bosmer's shoulder. "Everything happens for a reason."

Silence stretched as Valere lowered her head and stared at the stone floor. She could never find comfort in that statement despite knowing that she ought to look at the bigger picture than the small details. The villagers of Helgen were more than a catalyst to set her into this path — they were her family; they were people — good people! The Divines had no right to use them, even for the sake of the greater good—

_The greater good…_

Yesterday's incident came rushing back as realization hit her.  _No, I'm not like them_ , she told herself over and over, but as she reflected on her actions, she could no longer deny what she was becoming.

"Thane?" Lydia's brows furrowed as the Bosmer pulled away and wrapped her arms around herself. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing," Valere replied but stepped back further. "I need to-I'm heading out."

"Where are you—" Before Lydia could finish her query, the Bosmer had already grabbed her cloak and way making her way towards the stairs.

"I'll be back. Just need to visit the town," were Valere's last words before the door closed behind her.

~oOo~

Cold wind lashed harshly at Vilkas' cheeks as he treaded back to Winterhold while carrying a slain goat over his shoulder. With the meat he was bringing, he could at least get some discount from tonight's meal. It wasn't the only reason he went out however. Hunting was familiar, easy, and it was an adequate distraction from yesterday's incident.

As he neared the town, he saw his brother's back standing just outside the inn. Judging from the hand gesture, it looked as though he was speaking to someone but his larger build hid whoever he was having a conversation with.

Probably the Breton, Vilkas thought but threw that hypothesis aside when he heard Valere's voice.

"Please, I just need to talk to him."

"He went out," Farkas replied. There was a momentary pause before he asked, "what exactly did you do to him?"

Vilkas hastened his steps; he hoped to end the conversation before his brother learned more, but before he could make his presence known, the Bosmer answered, "we had a disagreement."

 _Disagreement? Disagreement!?_  Vilkas' jaws clenched tightly and his snort caught the attention of both man and mer. "Is that what you call a cowardly attack nowadays?"

Valere stepped to the side so they could face each other. "I didn't come here to argue Vilkas." Her hands pulled the fur cloak tighter around her lithe frame.

But to Oblivion with her discomfort! Vilkas strode past his twin and stood in front of the Dragonborn. "What else is there to say? I already know where you stand on this." Walking past his twin, he made his way towards the inn's door.

"I'm sorry."

His hand halted before it could push the door open. Same words, but different tone; not as mechanical as yesterday. He shouldn't believe — this could be another lie — but a small part of him nurtured some hope…

Slowly, he turned around to face Valere kept her pleading gaze towards him as her fingers worried at her cloak.

"Farkas," Vilkas called his brother who stood awkwardly as he glanced back and forth at them before settling towards his kin. "Take this inside."

Farkas hesitated at first, but nonetheless stepped closer to take the goat. "You sure you gonna be all right?" he whispered.

 _Doubt it_ , Vilkas thought; but he would rather not worry his brother over his anxiety so he nodded. "I'll be fine." He waited for the door to shut before turning his attention back to the Dragonborn. "Fine. Let's talk."

**END OF CHAPTER**


	9. Chapter 9

 

Valere wrapped her arms around herself as the cold wind breezed through the ruined buildings behind the inn. If this was Vilkas' way of punishing her, it was certainly working. At times, a part of her envied Nords and their resistance to cold.

After checking the surroundings for any possible eavesdroppers, said Companion returned to her. "You wanted to talk? Start talking elf."

She shifted her feet as the silence stretched for Gods knew how long. Vilkas told her to talk so she should start now right? But at that moment, she wasn't sure where to begin. "It was… an oversight on my part…" she began but paused when she heard him scoff. Taking a deep breath, she changed her tone. "All I meant is I've realize that I shouldn't have done that…"

Vilkas crossed his arms over his chest. "But?"

Her brows furrowed. "There's no 'but'." She stepped forward only to halt when he stepped back as he lowered his arms to the sides, his fingers twitching as though he was ready to take a defensive stance at any moment. "All I'm asking is a chance to make amends."

His brows shot up briefly before returning to his stoic façade. It took a minute of tensed silence, before he responded, "stop using magic."

Valere's eyes widened. Magic is as part of her just as breathing was. To give it up… "You can't be serious…"

Vilkas stood firm, gaze intently on her. "That's my condition."

"I… _can't_..." Her voice nearly cracked. "Magic is part of me. It's… you can't ask that from me."

"Can't I? It's what started it all in the first place." Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. "You know what? Just forget about it." Turning around, he began to walk away.

_Just like that?_

Despite the freezing temperature, Valere stood tall as she stepped forward. "Is this really just about my magic?" Vilkas halted but didn't even turn to face her. That hadn't daunted her the slightest, however. "Vilkas—"

"I can't trust you."

His words stung like arrows far sharper than anything Valere had experienced, making her wince instinctively. When she returned her gaze back to the Nord, he was already facing her; the thick walls of anger had crumbled down and that pain it revealed brought back the memory of their conversation at the fort.

He turned away to leave once more and Valere had to think quick. She couldn't let it end like this; but even if she gave up her practice on the arcane, would it truly solve this problem of theirs?

From the corner, she found an open chest with a child's wooden sword sticking out. Grabbing it by the hilt, she held it with both hands and hoped she got the right stance. "Turn around."

"Look, there's nothing to talk—" Vilkas blinked as his head tilted to the side. "What are you doing?"

"I can't give up magic," Valere began, her arms stretched out as she gripped tightly on the hilt. "But I can promise that the next time we have a disagreement, I will face you in a fair fight." She waited for his response but all he gave her was a dumbfounded look until...

He started laughing.

 _Did I say something strange?_ Her brows furrowed. _Declaring a challenge is a Nordic tradition right?_ "W-what?"

When his laughter had died down, he shook his head. "Even a new-blood can beat you with their eyes closed."

She scowled. "I may not be a seasoned warrior but—"

"You're holding a sword elf, not a bow."

Blood rose up to her cheeks, and while she appreciated the heat it offered, she would much rather run and hide from this embarrassment. Yet, her pride wouldn't let it slide. "I can still take you."

Vilkas snorted. "Sure you can."

Valere widened her stance just like how Lydia would do it… at least, she hoped that her memory of it was right. "Go on. Give me your best shot."

He fixed her a deadpanned look. "Against a wooden sword?"

She hesitated. "...Yes."

"Fine."

Everything that happened next flew far too quickly. One moment he was reaching behind for his greatsword, and the next, her sword was sent flying from her grasp. Valere stared into the space as she tried to register everything. Slowly, her head turned and found her weapon that skidding along the snow, then shifted her gaze back to Vilkas who had just sheathed his blade and grinned smugly at her.

"If I had been an enemy, you'd be dead."

"I-it's the first time I've held a sword!"

He scoffed. "You're the one who challenged me first."

She opened her mouth but shut it and settled with pressing her lips tightly instead; there was no sense in arguing further considering that he had a fair point. There was still the matter of their compromise though; hence, carefully, she asked, "so, is this... are we...?"

Vilkas sighed heavily as he shut his eyes; the Bosmer feared this may start another argument but once he opened them, his features softened slightly. "It's a start."

Valere couldn't stop her lips from smiling. "You won't regret it." She won't make the same mistake again.

"Work on the basics of swordplay first." The corner of his mouth twitched up. "Better yet, get yourself a decent blade."

With reddening cheeks, she watched him return to the inn and huffed. _It's a start._

~oOo~

Days passed since the conversation with the Dragonborn. No news about her reached him even as her housecarl visited the town every now and then.

The separation was good, he supposed; it helped start the healing. It allowed the raw pain to fade into a dull ache. No longer could the beast within him incite great anger no matter how much it clawed at the wound.

Still, he wasn't sure how to face her again without the air becoming… awkward. Where do they go at that point? The fight wasn't like how he and Farkas had as pups; no amount of sweet roll would put things the way it was before.

 _Doesn't matter…. Not like I'd be seeing her once this job's over_ , he thought as he and Farkas each carried a goat over their shoulders while trudging back to town.

"Don't you think it's weird?"

Farkas' query snapped Vilkas out of his thoughts. "What?"

"The inn just feels kinda… I dunno…" Farkas shrugged. "Crowded lately?"

Vilkas raised his free hand and rubbed his chin. "Now that you mentioned it…"

"Companions!? Here!?"

Hearing a young man's voice, the twins turned around and found two guards approaching them.

The taller one shook his head. "Sorry 'bout him. New recruit."

"It's fine," Vilkas replied as he examined their armor. It looked similar with what the Winterhold guards would wear but with difference to color. "You don't look like you're from around here."

"Windhelm," the taller guard said.

"Same… well, Kynesgrove, but close," the new recruit said.

Vilkas raised a brow. "If you're from Windhelm, why go to Winterhold? Nothing here but snow and the College."

"Not our choice," the new recruit replied. "Jarl's ord—"

"Shhhh! You're not supposed to tell those things to anyone, you twit!"

The recruit winced at the other guard's glare. "Sorry!"

Vilkas merely shrugged and returned to marching back to town with his brother in tow and the two guards followed not far behind them. Still, his mind reeled on the implications of their arrival.

 _From Windhelm…_ He scowled. _Got a bad feeling about this. Better inform the elf._ But first, there was the matter of diverting the guards' attention.

"So, you think I can join the Companions?"

The recruit's query raised both Companions' curiosity. "You wanna be a Companion?" Farkas said.

"Yeah. I think I'd make a decent one."

"You can't even hit a dummy properly," the taller guard said.

Before the two guard could get into a heated fight, Vilkas spoke, "sure." It earned him looks from the three other Nords which he merely shrugged in response.

"Really?" The recruit's eyes widened as he gave a broad grin.

"Really…" Farkas mumbled low enough for only his brother to hear.

"Just play along," Vilkas replied with the same volume before telling the recruit just as their group reached the town, "there's some space at the back of the inn. Can test you there."

"Yes!" The recruit raised his fists, alerting some of the guards nearby. One guard had approached his taller partner who explained that the idiot lad was going to try his mettle against a seasoned warrior while pointing a finger towards Farkas.

That certainly drew attention as the news traveled fast that by the time Vilkas had delivered the slain goats inside the Frozen Hearth, all of the guards had gathered at the back of the inn to watch the match.

Taking the opportunity, he hurried towards the bridge the led to the College. The invisible cloak of magicka once more enveloped his body as he passed by huge well in the middle of the courtyard. His muscles twitched; nonetheless, he kept a steady pace as he entered the Hall of Elements where the voice of who he just needed to see echoed in the large room.

"So let me get this straight Brelyna…" Valere stared with an arched brow at a dark elf and a cow. "This, is… J'zargo."

Brelyna lowered her head as she shifted her feet. "…yes."

" _Moo…_ "

"And you turned him into this with an Illusion spell you've been working on?"

"… supposedly."

" _Moo…_ "

"… And you are certain this is temporary?"

"Well, yes… at least, I hope it still is."

"You… _hope_ …?"

" _Moo!_ "

Brelyna glared at the animal beside her. "I already said I'm sorry! And I did tell you that it's still experimental!"

" _Moo!_ "

"You were at fault too! You keep distracting me while casting the spell!"

" _Moo!_ "

Valere cleared her throat, gaining the attention of both apprentices once again. "As much as I'm curious how you understand the cow language, let's return to—"

"Dragonborn," Vilkas called as he entered the main room but halted. "… Why is there a cow here?"

"Magic," Valere replied.

Vikas took a slow, deep breath. "Right… don't wanna know."

"Thought so." She smiled, though he noted that it looked rather strained. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"We need to talk…" Pausing, he side-glanced towards the Dunmer before adding, "privately."

Her smile disappeared. "I see… Give me a moment then. I'll meet you at the Arcaneum."

"This is urgent. I wouldn't be here if—"

"I know, but so is this." Over the Bosmer's shoulder, her thumb pointed at the apprentice and cow."Now, off you go." She waved a dismissive hand before turning back to her apprentices.

Vilkas huffed as he glared at the Dragonborn's back. That arrogant little — doesn't she know he was doing this for her sake!? And she just shoos him away like some mangy mutt?! Why was he even doing this in the first place!?

Turning around, he stomped down the hallway; but before he could reach the handle, the main doors opened as the Dragonborn's Imperial comrade entered the hall.

Marcurio raised a brow. "Well, look at what the horker dragged in."

Vilkas growled. "Outta my way mage." Using his larger build, he pushed past the Imperial.

However, before he could shut the door, Marcurio spoke, "leaving already even after all the trouble you went through to get here? What then? Pretend the unusual amount of guards don't exist?"

That piqued his curiosity. "You know something?"

"I know plenty of things."

Vilkas gritted his teeth. "You know what I mean!"

"All right, but first..." Marcurio's hand gestured at the still opened doors. "Do you mind? You're letting the cold in."

Vilkas rolled his eyes as he muttered under his breath, "Imperials…" Nonetheless, he re-entered the hall after shutting the door behind him.

Whether the Imperial hadn't heard the comment or merely ignored it, the latter showed no reaction and continued with his explanation. "We've been trying to contact you but couldn't without raising the soldiers' suspicions. They've been patrolling close to the bridge for the past few days."

Vilkas' thoughts turned to his brother and wondered how he was doing right now. He ought to be more concerned for that new recruit with the beating he'd be getting, but if the guards had discovered that his association — no matter how temporary it is — with the College, they might do something to his twin. The beast within him stirred and he diverted his attention elsewhere fully awakening it. "Doesn't seem like your Archmage's concerned."

"Oh, she's concerned. Who else do you think informed us? Okay, technically, Lydia noticed it a few days ago and informed Valere who warned everyone afterwards, but not the point." Marcurio paused and pondered on something before adding, "what did Valere tell you?"

Vilkas' jaws clenched tightly at remembering her dismissive attitude earlier, but set that annoyance aside for now. "Meet her at the Arcaneum," he answered through gritted teeth.

"It's that way." Marcurio pointed at one of the stairs.

"I know where it is!" Vilkas clenched his fists. By the gods! He didn't know who was worse!? Him or that damnable Dragonborn! He was ready to storm out of this gods-forsaken fortress. But he recalled the Imperial's previous query.

What then? Let whatever the guards plan to do here play out? How long before that happens? Would it happen on the day of their departure? What if it was their group they've been waiting for all along? Could they fight their way through? That would certainly be the most direct approach but who knows how many more soldiers would be coming.

"Gods curse you all…" Vilkas grumbled as he stomped past the other man. "Fine. But I'm not waiting all day."

As he entered the library, Urag greeted him with a sharp glare. Vilkas scowled in return but chose to ignore the librarian in favor of browsing the shelves for any book. It was a good distraction; especially since, aside from the Orc, the room was relatively deserted and he could read in peace.

Minutes later, voices echoed as they entered the library. With eyes still skimming the random book he plucked out from the shelves earlier, he listened intently to their conversation.

"Runes have been set should they consider crossing the bridge," a female voice said.

"And risk destroying our ony way out?" the male voice replied. "We're better off using spells like mayhem—"

"Illusion has its pitfalls," the female shot back. "Fury spells, for example, while useful in turning your enemy against their allies, still attack indiscriminately."

"You? Worried over the lack of discrimination?" The male scoffed. "Why? Can your fireballs determine an ally from a foe?"

"It certainly can with proper control and aiming," the female retorted.

"You two should know by now that the only reason a mage can survive long in a battle is due to the mastery of wards." From the hallway, another female spoke, her voice higher in pitch. When Vilkas turned to look, he found Colette in front of a female Altmer and male Dunmer whose eyes narrowed as they glared at the Breton.

The Dunmer crossed his arms."You do know wards consume magicka too, right?"

"Would you rather run out of magicka or be dead?" Colette shot back.

"How about neither." Another mage joined them, an elderly Imperial. "Simple answer to that dilemma is wear a properly enchanted armor."

"Or you can just summon an atronach." A male Breton added as he entered a second after the previous mage.

The gathered mages continued their squabble, and while Vilkas couldn't understand half of the gibberish coming out of their mouths, it reminded him of the Companions whenever conversations shifted to which weapon is better. The argument here, however, seemed more fatal considering that at the mead hall, the worse thing that could happen was a brawl; here… he could already smell the smoke coming from the female Altmer's twitching hands despite the calmness in her features.

His gaze flickered towards the Orc after hearing the latter's chair move against the stone floor. "Hey. If all of you want to murder each other do it somewhere else! And for the record, none of you would've learned those spells and rituals if not for these books here."

"Quite a lively discussion we have here."

The room went silent as the Dragonborn entered with Marcurio, Lydia and an old Nord in heavy robes. "I don't know Tolfdir, I'd much rather keep them apart if it all keeps them in one piece," Valere said before scanning the room and waved beckoning hand towards Vilkas.

Aside from Urag, all heads turned towards him as though his existence just registered to them. There was this itch to shift his feet but he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of watching him fidget; so he kept his eyes on them as he stepped forward and joined the gathered group.

Valere made quick introductions of the mages gathered before she moved on to her query,"so what have you heard?"

"Aside from what you've already figured out, the soldiers I've spoken to came from Windhelm," Vilkas replied. "Jarl's orders, one said."

The magisters whispered to one another of what it could mean while Valere took the news with only the smallest and briefest scowl to show her disdain. "Have they mentioned anything about the armors we brought?"

Vilkas shook his head. "Haven't heard anything."

"It's possible nonetheless," Marcurio glanced over to the Archmage. "Best if we leave now when the bulk of the force hasn't arrived."

"Cargo coming from the College will raise suspicion. And even if this isn't the bulk, there are still too many of them for us to take down," Lydia interjected.

"Not to mention civilian could get injured," Tolfdir added.

Colette nodded. "As much as the townsfolk detests the College, they shouldn't get involved in this in any way. We should bide our time."

"You do realize that it puts everyone in the College at risk," the male Dunmer, Drevis argued.

"On that, I must agree," the Altmer, Faralda, added. "The College can handle a quick intrusion but not a long siege. We simply do not have enough supplies."

"Whether we give them what they want or not, nothing's stopping them from attacking the College," the male Breton, Phineas, spoke as he stepped forward.

Drevis shook his head. "We shouldn't have involved ourselves in politics in the first place."

The elderly Imperial, Sergius, retorted, "need I remind you that enchantment is what's keeping this place running?"

Just as arguing voices gradually raised the Arcaneum, Valere stepped forward and shouted, "enough!" Her gaze flickered from each silenced person in that room before continuing, "yes, storming out of the bridge with the goods is suicide, but I will not risk everyone's safety here either."

Vilkas' brows furrowed. "So, what's your plan? There's no other way aside from the bridge."

"On the contrary…" All heads turned to Tolfdir as he raised a hand. "There is another way."

**END OF CHAPTER**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Finally! Start of summer vacation. To my readers, I apologize if the update took too long. Law school was really hectic this semester; and there's still the election here in my country that's currently keeping me busy and draining some of my insipration. I will try to update more frequently this summer though, I promise.


	10. Chapter 10

Vilkas scowled as he climbed down a set of stairs leading to the passages underneath the College. He had already passed by a dubious-looking ritual site, two dead draugrs surrounded by skeletons, and now, an ominous gauntlet at the center of the circular room.

 _Of course they’d have a hidden dungeon; where else would they practice their forbidden magical crap_ , he thought as he pinched his nose after inhaling the scent of dried blood, stagnant water and something he would rather not find out.

“Here I thought you’d be used to this stench, going into caves and dungeons for, what, a decade?”

He snorted then his head turned towards the Dragonborn who was walking beside him. “More than a decade, and I doubt _anyone_ can get used to this.”

She chuckled. “Point taken.”

They descended another set of icy stairs, both taking careful steps lest they slip “So where does this exit lead?” Vilkas said.

“Dunno.” Valere shrugged and pointed at the elderly mage walking ahead of them. “I’m just following Tolfdir.”

He arched a brow. “You’re the Arch-Mage. Shouldn’t you know?”

“I’ve only been here once and that time… well, there were more pressing issues to deal with than exploring the Midden.”

“That’s surprising. Figured you were the adventurous type.”

She chortled. “So I’ve been told, though not in that context.”

Despite the jovial response, Vilkas noted the slight strain in her voice. Before he could press further inquiry, Tolfdir called them while his hand pushed open a door framed by sliced spider webs, “it’s just this way.”

Both approached the elderly Nord and peered past the doorway. As he and Valere entered the frost-covered cavern, Vilkas eyed the slippery bridge above; they had crossed that earlier and the Dragonborn nearly fell hadn't he grabbed her by the arm just in time. It felt like he was dragging an empty sack when he pulled her away from the edge. _She puts a child's weight to shame_ , he thought only to snap out of it when she strode past him and towards a shimmering arcane energy blocking another path.

“This will only take a moment.” With a few twirls of the Bosmer's hand, the barrier dissipated, allowing the biting cold wind to enter and brush against the Companion's cheeks. Looking over her shoulders, she asked the elderly mage who joined them in the cavern. “Where does this lead?”

“Beneath the College,” Tolfdir replied. "If you lend me your map—ah, thank you my dear." He unfolded the parchment and beckoned the two to come closer. "The exit is over here and there's a path leading towards a strait. Of course, it would still require a mage to access the path. There are quite a number of ridges and screes that are too dangerous to jump down from."

"I see." Valere bowed lightly. "Thank you for the assistance Magister Tolfdir."

"It was my pleasure." Tolfdir smiled slightly though raised a hand. "But, there no need for—"

Rushing footsteps echoed above the three men and mer whom had glanced up at the sound. “Arch Mage! I have urgent new—ah!” From the slippery bridge slipped a man, his arms flailing as he futilely attempted to grab any protruding rocks on the walls.

Both mages below waved their hands above their head as white mist swirled around the falling body, gently rocking the man until he landed on ground with a barely audible thump.

The man, who had his eyes shut, slowly opened them. “I...” He sat up, no doubt surprised that he still could as he glanced up. “Thank you...”

He was a Nord, Vilkas noted, probably as tall as him though thinner. Judging from the robes worn, his guess was that the said mage was an apprentice.

“Onmund, do be careful next time,” Valere said as she held a hand which the apprentice accepted.

The apprentice nodded. “Y-yes, of course…”

“So what’s bring you down here?”

With this, Onmund straightened himself. “Ah, guards—Captain I think…” His fingers fidgeted. “He’s demanding to speak to you at once.”

“ _Demanding_?” She snorted. “If that’s how he requests for my presence, then he can wait outside the gates till midnight.”

“Yes, but the magisters fear he and his men would force their way in if ignored any long.”

That gave the Dragonborn a reason to pause. “How many?”

“Seven? Eight? I wasn’t able to see.”

“Have they mentioned anything about my brother? Is he with them?” Vilkas stepped closer to the apprentice but the latter shook his head. His lips curled into a deep scowl. What if they’ve captured Farkas and use him as a bargaining tool for the Dragonborn to comply with their demands? But that’d be mad; there’s no way anyone of those milk drinkers could take down his brother, even if he’s not using his sword arm for battle.

However, at the brief flash of memory where he nearly lost his twin, his stomach tightened into a series of knots. His inner turmoil must have been evident in his features as the Bosmer’s hand gently reached for his shoulders, causing him to pull away from his troubled thoughts.

“Perhaps he’s still at the inn,” Valere said. “You can take this passage. It’s possible the soldiers haven’t figured out your connection to the College.”

“And if they have?”

“Then you have a better chance catching them off guard with this than forcing your way from the front gates. Magister Tolfdir can guide you out and direct you which path to take.” Glancing over to the younger mage, she called, “Onmund…”

The apprentice straightened himself. “Y-yes?”

”Accompany Vilkas to town and back.”

He blinked and so did the Companion. “Him?”

Valere nodded. “Just in case you run into trouble.”

Vilkas eyed the younger Nord from head to toe. The latter on turn fidgeted at the scrutiny. _Divines preserve me…_ He sighed heavily. “Fine, so long as he doesn’t get in my way.”

Onmund huffed but held back his retort, settling instead with a curt, "I won't."

“I’ll see you all later. Good luck.” With that, the Dragonborn turned and marched back up to the Hall of Countenance.

 

~oOo~

 

Emerging from the trap door, Marcurio greeted the Dragonborn with an outstretched hand. “Good, you’re finally here.”

“What’s the situation?” Valere gripped his offered hand that pulled her out of hole.

“Going downhill. The captain’s getting impatient and so is Lydia.” He handed the Bosmer her fur cloak. “If glares could kill, she might have murdered them all by now.”

Valere secured the fur cloak over her shoulders and strode towards the door. Biting cold wind brushed against her cheeks as she stepped out of the Hall of Countenance. She scanned the courtyard illuminated mostly by the pillar of light from the large well at the center. Aside from the people gathered by the front gate, the area is mostly empty — an odd scene considering that apprentices loved to eavesdrop. “Where are the students?” she asked her Imperial comrade as he joined her outside.

“Back in the Hall of Attaiment,” Marcurio replied. “Urag, Colette and Faralda are keeping them from leaving their rooms. They’re anxious enough after catching a glimpse of the Stormcloaks at our doorsteps. It’ll just send them into a mass hysteria if we let them eavesdrop.”

 _Fair point._ Valere took a deep breath and approached the gathered mages. As she neared the gates, the heated argument gradually became audible. “As I said, Arch Mage Valere is dealing with more important matters and cannot see anyone tonight. So, I suggest you return to your Hold and visit some. Other. Time,” her housecarl spoke calmly, though the Bosmer detected the hint of tension in her tone. _Any longer and she might end up strangling the man._ It was fortunate, she supposed, that the gates were shut tight with magic, though if the Stormcloaks had their way, they could and definitely would use their sheer stubbornness to force those sealed gates open.

“Tell your Arch Mage that Jarl Ulfric will not stand for this!” The captain shouted, his fists banging against the bars of the gate.

“Then perhaps he should find a chair to sit on.” Valere approached the gates just as Phinis, Drevis and Sergius stepped aside, giving her a wide berth. “What’s all this ruckus? I swear to the Divines, I could hear your whining from the highest floor.” She eyed each men behind the supposed captain; most appeared to be new recruits judging by their youthful faces. Briefly she caught a movement beside her and saw Lydia reaching for the hilt of her sword. When their gazes met, she nodded slightly to the female Nord as an assurance and the latter hesitantly stayed her hand.

“Arch Mage—or should I say _Dragonborn_.” The captain sneered “By order of the Jarl, you are to come with us to Windhelm.” The man was a large Nord with a long dark brown beard and wearing a standard set of Stormcloak armor.

“Oh?” Her arms crossed over her chest. “Last I checked, his authority extends only up to the borders of Eastmarch.”

“Jarl Ulfric is the High King. He has authority anywhere in Skyrim.”

“The ‘High King’ had died months ago and the position remains vacant until settled by the Moot. As of now, your Jarl merely claims to be qualified.”

A soldier stepped forward with his hand on the hilt of his blade. “How dare you insult Jarl Ulfric! He is the true High King!”

Valere arched a brow. “I’m not insulting your Jarl, ser; I’m educating your captain.” She tilted her head to the side. “Lydia, head to Windhelm and tell Ulfric he can shove his authority up his wit’s end.” A small grin formed on her lips at the soldiers who looked as though someone had just urinated on a statue of Talos. “ _That_ , gentlemen, is an insult. See the difference?”

The captain gritted his teeth as his fists clenched tightly. “Watch your tongue wench, lest you wish _your kind_ to starve to death.”

“Considering they can _actually_ starve us to death, how about a more... tempered approach?” A voice whispered in the Dragonborn’s ear and the latter side-glanced only to see no one beside her. It was then she realized that Drevis, perhaps in the midst of her antagonizing the soldiers, had used an Invisibility spell on himself.

 _His words hold true_ , Valere admitted; however, she couldn’t back down just yet — not when these men believe they hold the advantage. _But how?_ Her gaze flickered towards the bridge and recalled Faralda mentioning the runes she and her apprentices had prepared earlier. _Gods, I hope this works…_

Her silence seemed to have embolden the captain who sneered as he added, “that’s a good lass. Now come along quietly and we won’t harm the rest of your friends here.” The rest of his men mirrored his expression.

“It seems I have little choice.” She stepped closer to the gates, her hand resting against the stone frame. Her fingers tingled as magic flowed out from them and into the stone. “Sate my curiosity first captain; what does Ulfric want from me?”

“None of your damn business,” the captain replied.

Her magicka weaved along the cracks, locating each dormant rune marked on the bridge. _Oh my…They've certainly outdone themselves…_ The Altmer’s lingering magic, as well as the students', mingled with hers; some with ease, others required more time. For the time being, she smiled to the captain. “It’s actually my business considering I ought to know what is expected of me,”

“You are expected to show yourself and do what he commands.”

“Oh? Is that all?”Valere tested the waters and increased the amount of magicka she was transferring. For a moment, the runes behind the soldiers glowed faintly, and she couldn’t help but smile at that. _Perfect._

The captain’s eyes narrowed. “What are you grinning about elf?”

 _Now comes the tricky part…_ “Considering my other options…” As much as she wanted to burn them, it would only antagonize the Stormcloaks and seal the College’s fate.

The captain gave her a dumbfounded look. “What? Gonna let your mages starve to death?”

Bit by bit, she transmitted more of her magicka to the runes. _Almost there…_ “Perhaps…” She smiled.“The thought of you informing your Jarl of your failure to retrieve me would be an amusing scene. I wonder… would he flog you alive? Or execute you on the spot?”

The captain’s head leaned until his eyes were on the same level as the Dragonborn's. “We’re not going anywhere wench. We’ll watch you all suffer, and when you're too weak to even cast a simple fire, we’ll storm your gates and gut you all like a fish.”

Valere’s grin only broadened. “Not if we burn you all first.”

“Wha—”

Orange light glowed underneath the Stormcloaks’ feet, the lines and daedric symbols making themselves known. The light spread down further until it covered half of the bridge. A series of gasps erupted both behind and in front of the Bosmer.

“Men! Fall back!” The captain shouted as the soldiers began scrambling back.

“Take one more step and you’ll all be roasted flesh for the fish below.” Valere remained smiling despite her threat.

The Stormcloaks stilled but the captain whirled and charged towards the gates, banging his fists so hard, it startled the mages behind the Dragonborn and set their hands to cast any spell; even Lydia had unsheathed her sword. Yet, Valere kept her composure as she raised her free hand to halt her housecarl and fellow mages.

The captain spoke through gritted teeth. “I swear to the Nine—”

“Swear all you like, they certainly won’t help you at this point.”

In response, the captain spat at her face, prompting Lydia to charge forward. "You dare—"

"Lydia."

Hesitantly, the housecarl halted at that single word from her Thane's lips. She breathed deeply but didn't sheathed her sword. Valere understood this was difficult for the other woman, especially since the latter was trained to defend her Thane's honor; but killing these men would cause more problems in the long run. The soldier will demand retribution and this arrogant prick along with his foolish men would be hailed as martyrs. The College would be branded as enemies; worse, they would be enemies living in their territory.

 _Time to take Drevis' advice... partially._ “Truth be told,” Valere began, casually wiping the spit with the back of her hand and blatantly ignoring the seething captain as she addressed instead the men behind him. “this invitation of Ulfric has piqued my interest . Indeed, I’ve been meaning to meet with him given I have the opportunity.”

The soldiers seemed to relax a little judging from their shoulders lowering slightly, however, tension returned as the Bosmer added, “I, however, dislike the way you have invited me. Threaten my College again and I will hunt you all down and feed you to a Dremora Lord. Are we clear?”When no one responded, she sent a surge of magicka towards the runes which glowed brighter, though not so much that it would activate them completely. “I said, are we clear?”

The Stormcloaks quickly nodded. Valere grinned slightly and moved her hand away from the stone wall. “Glad we have an understanding. Now, I shall let this matter slide considering you were only following orders. On the morrow, I will meet you by the foot of the bridge and we can all head to Windhelm.”

“Thane—” Lydia began but bit held any protest as the Dragonborn raised a hand.

The soldiers’ gazes now focused on their captain, awaiting his decision. The latter’s eyes narrowed as he sneered. “And how can we be sure you’ll keep your end of the bargain?”

 “As I’ve said, I’m interested in meeting your Jarl. And even if I wasn’t, well…” Valere opened her arms wide. “Our only path is through that bridge, as you can see, unless of course I roast all of you at this very moment…” With the last statement, she caught their shoulders tensing slightly and she had to suppress her grin. “It is settled then. I’ll meet you by the bridge tomorrow morning.”

When none of them made further protests, she turned and strode back to the Hall of Elements with Lydia, Marcurio and the remaining magisters in tow.

Once out of earshot, Phinis said with an arched brow and an amused smile. “ _Feed them to Dremora Lords_? As I recall, you detest summoning one.”

“You know that and I know that, but I doubt the rest of Skyrim does,”  The corners of her lips slightly twitched up. "And I always have you to do it for me."

“Can’t say I agree with your approach though,” Drevis joined in their conversation. “Threatening them was still a risky move.”

“Agreed,” Marcurio added. “Can't be sure whether that move was stupidly brave or bravely stupid.”

Sergius shushed the two. “And so we just what? Roll over while they take whatever they want? I think not!” He turned his head towards the Arch Mage. “Why, if had been in your place, I would’ve shove a flaming shiv up their coal mines.”

Valere bit her lower lip, suppressing the smile threatening to worm its way out.“I thank you for your support Enchanter Sergius.” She shifted her attention to the Dunmer and younger Imperial. “Risky, that's true but they would have taken our outright acquiesce as a weakness and exploit it had I given to their demands so easily."

“Fair point.” Drevis sighed. “I just hope this doesn’t backfire.”

“My Thane…” Lydia approached, her brows furrowed. “About your tomorrow, I advise you against going with them alone.”

“I understand, but let's discuss this with the rest of the magisters,” Valare replied just before she pushed open the large double doors of the Hall of Elements. “Inform them to head over to the Arcaneum as soon as they can.”

“I…” Lydia breathed a deep sigh. “As you command.”

The Dragonborn watched as her housecarl headed towards the Hall of Attainment then shifted her gaze towards the gates. The Stormcloaks were nowhere to found by now, and her thoughts wandered to Vilkas. I hope _I bought him enough time…_

 

~oOo~

 

The trek back up the town had been awkwardly silent save for the crushing snow beneath the two Nords’ feet. Vilkas could feel the apprentice’s eyes on his back, yet he opted to ignore it and hastened his pace instead. A part of him had hoped the elderly mage had joined them after they had guided them to the strait; he was certainly a better company. Then again, it would rouse more suspicion if he had two mages tagging along so this was the safer option.

“So…” Onmund started at one point, perhaps to remedy the deafening silence. “Do you ever get that weird taste in your mouth before battle?”

 _If you mean that sickening taste of human flesh and bones werewolves enjoyed_ , Vilkas thought, _then yeah, every damn time_. Still, aside from a grunt, he made no response to the inquiry, and that ended whatever conversation the mage was trying build up.

As soon as he spotted the ruined buildings of Winterhold, he halted and sniffed the air while his eyes flickered as they followed the sounds of footsteps crushing the snow on the ground.

“What—” Onmund inquired but the Companion raised a hand which silenced the apprentice.

 _Four… five… six…_ Vilkas took another deep breath to check the scents that passed through his nose. All had been from the guards who normally patrolled the streets at night; no one unfamiliar, and especially no trace of Farkas’. He’s not sure if that’s a good sign or not.

“Look!” Onmund gasped and as the Companion followed the young mage’s pointing finger, he spotted half of the bridge gradually engulfed by an orange light.

 _What in Oblivion is going on up there!?_ Vilkas brows furrowed. He sniffed again and the smell of fear and anxiety was palpable in the air. Their footsteps had halted as well, and if he had to guess, their focus would be entirely on the bridge.“Let’s go,” he mumbled and, without waiting for the apprentice’s response, marched towards the inn, his pace faster than earlier that Onmund needed to jog to catch up.

Reaching the back of the inn, Vilkas leaned against the wooden wall, his hand gesturing at the younger Nord to do the same.

Onmund scrunched his brows but followed suit. “So, what now?”

“Quiet.” Vilkas shushed the other Nord then he shut his eyes and listened in. Several pairs of feet fidgeted but no one moved far from where they stood. Peeking from behind the inn, he cursed at the ruined house blocking his view.

“I… I can get closer,” Onmund whispered.

Vilkas turned his head to him. “How?”

“I’ve been practicing this spell—not Invisibility—but it'll help me blend in with the surroundings… so long as I don’t get too close.”

Vilkas considered his options. It would be easier to sneak his brother out of the inn without any inquiries from the guards, but he needed to know how long they would be distracted. “All right,” he finally said. “Keep an eye on them and if they look like they’re about to leave that spot, find me.”

Onmund nodded before stepping away from the wall. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, his hands pressing against his chest. Shimmering light enveloped his body and with each exhale, his skin and clothes turned translucent until everything disappeared — almost.

Vilkas could still make out the outline of his body when he squinted slightly. Then again, his senses were heightened so this assured him that the guards would have difficulty in detecting the apprentice. As soon as the apprentice crouched and skulked towards the ruined ruined house, the Companion, while still leaning against the wall, side-stepped to the other side then turned around the corner and dashed towards the inn's door. Fortunately, the howling winds masked the sound his clanking armor.

As Vilkas stormed in The Frozen Hearth, he only found passed-out soldiers on the tables with empty mugs in hand; yet, there was no sign of Farkas. He scanned the common hall, his gaze flickering side to side while sniffing the air. _Still here..._ He sighed in relief and was about to follow familiar scent when someone stepped out from one of the inn's larger rooms.

"Looking for your brother?"

 

** END OF CHAPTER **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello everyone! I'm still alive! Apologies for the delayed update. I know I said I would update more often during our summer break but campaign period got me busy and contributed in my writer's block. Also, I had to review Winterhold's landscape, particularly, the Midden; but my computer ran into some problems that ended up deleting my save files so I had to replay the game from the start. I can't promise that my updates will come frequently since our semester has started almost two months ago and midterms will be two weeks from now; but rest assured that I have no plans of abandoning this story.


	11. Chapter 11

            Vilkas glared at an Altmer standing few feet away from him. The mer wore robes quite similar with the standard mage robes but he had never seen him in the College grounds; in fact, he had only seen him here in The Frozen Hearth. Briefly, he sniffed, and when he smelled his brother's scent on the mer, his jaws clenched tightly. "Where is he?" He growled through gritted teeth.

            "He is safe," the Altmer replied. "But first, I must advise you to—"

            With long quick strides, Vilkas' large hand gripped the mage's thin neck then lifted him up from the floor. "Listen mage. I don't have time to play games. Either tell me where he is, or I swear to the gods, I will choke you to death." To prove it was no idle threat, his hand tightened its hold.

            The Altmer pointed towards his room, but just as the Companion's gaze followed the finger, the mer's other hand gripped his captor's wrist and sent a mild shock straight to the nerves.

            Vilkas recoiled and released the neck from his grasp, dropping his captive on the floor as the latter gasped for air. "You son of a—"

            "Peace!" The Altmer raised a hand and the Nord took a defensive stance, presuming that the mage was about to cast a spell; yet, no such thing happened and the mer only stood up while trying to catch his breath. "Peace, Companion. I am not your enemy."

            Vilkas' eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

            The Altmer tilted his head to the side. "Strange you would not know of my name at the very least. I've been staying in this inn far longer than you have."

            "Nelacar!" The voice of the innkeeper, Dagur, called as he opened the door that led to the basement. "What in Oblivion are you doing?!" His eyes scanned the common room  before turning them towards the two.

            "Nothing to concern yourself tonight." Nelacar waved a dismissive hand. "Merely stumbled on a few pots and buckets. Your patrons over there had made quite a mess."

As the innkeeper grumbled about being too tired to clean up tonight, he returned downstairs. Both men and mer focused back to one another; the latter sighed then jerked his head to the side. "Your brother's well, only knocked out cold by... too much alcohol."

            At the brief pause, Vilkas scrutinized the Altmer for any signs of deceit but the latter ignored his glare and led him to his room. True to his word, Farkas lay on the bed, breathing evenly — suspicious, considering his brother snored whenever he had too much alcohol.

            Then something clicked in his mind and he grabbed one empty bottle around his brother's hand, sniffing from the opening. There definitely once was a mead inside but mixed with... something else. The scent was faint but the Companion knew from his years of drinking that such smell was never part of any mead. In fact, just the aroma had blurred his vision briefly and he threw the bottle away, shattering as it collided against the wall. "Poison," he muttered through gritted teeth followed by a series of incoherent curses. _Sons of Skyrim? Bah! More like sons of dishonorable whores!_

            "He'll be fine after a night's rest. I've taken the liberty of giving him potions that can help counter the poison's effects, just in case," Nelecar assured him. His eyes were now focused on the sleeping Nord. "It's a very potent poison, but your brother seems to have... an extraordinary resistance to such things. Any other man or mer would've been rendered comatose for a week."

            Vilkas wasn't sure which he should be more wary of — the extent of the poison's effect or the hint of curiosity from the Altmer's tone."Huh... aren't you well-informed." He watched the mage warily.

            "Of course. I'm a mage after all; not to mention a contact tipped me about their plan."

            "You knew then." Vilkas scowled. "Yet, you didn't stop them."

            "I knew some were considering to use you two as bargaining tools should our dear Arch Mage refuse their request. But the method of execution eluded me until your brother passed out and I checked the bottles they've been serving him from their _special_ cask from Windhelm." A small amused smile grazed his lips. "Though by that time, the other soldiers had already passed out from their meads." Waving a dismissive hand, he added, "anyway, this isn't the best time to discuss this. Best we leave while there's still time."

            Vilkas, as much as he wanted to interrogate the Altmer further, nodded. Slinging Farkas' arm over his shoulders, he heaved him off the bed.

            Nelacar slung the other arm over his shoulders. "Get your things. I'll take him out."

            Vilkas arched a brow. While the Altmer stood taller than an average Nord, he was too skinny to handle his brother's weight. Yet he hesitantly released his twin before returning to their rooms to retrieve their pack and some pouches of coin for the food and lodging. By the time he returned to the common room and left the payment on the bar table, Nelacar, though hunched to the same level as Farkas, had carried the latter with relative ease. However, just as they stepped out of the inn, their footsteps halted as the guards and Stormcloaks passed by, pausing when the group sighted them.

            The world seemed to have slowed to the point of stopping entirely as Vilkas' heart raced along with the drumming heartbeat of the Altmer. _Shit, shit, shit, shit!_ He inhaled the air around them and picked up the scent of the Nord apprentice. He hadn't ran off at least, though his ears couldn't pick up the slightest of footsteps. Too focused was he with searching for the lad, that he failed to pick up the query thrown at them.

            "Companion! The captain asked you a question!" A soldier barked, stepping only to halt when the Altmer responded.

            "Getting some fresh air." Nelacar tilted his head towards the unconscious Nord. "As you can see, someone had too much drink tonight."

            The captain glanced down at the two packs the Companion had been carrying. "Doesn't look like it's just for fresh air."

            _To the void with them!_ Vilkas climbed down the small set of steps but stopped as the soldiers' hands reached for the hilt of their blades.

            "You are going nowhere, Companion."

            Vilkas' hands itched to reached his own greatsword; the beast within him even stirred at the opportunity to gnaw at some fresh flesh and bones. Yet, he forced those urges down while his eyes counted how many men had gathered. In addition to the six guards earlier, there were ten Stormcloak; while on his side, there was him and the mage who's currently incapable of defending himself while carrying his brother. _Fuck._

            Suddenly, a ball of lightning struck someone at the back of the group followed by a ball of red light that burst as it collided with another soldier. The Stormcloaks unsheathed their swords but the ones behind that hadn't been stunned by the lightning spell charged towards their comrades.

            "This way." Nelacar grabbed Vilkas' arm and ran while the captain and his unaffected men struggled against their brethrens. At one point of their escape, the Companion's skin tingled and when he briefly glanced down, his wrist was completely transparent. It was only when the Altmer released his hand that his body returned to normal.

            On his shaky hands and knees, Nelacar panted heavily, dropping Farkas' unconscious body beside him. "Give me... a minute..." he mumbled in between pants. "I've... used up... too much magicka."

            _For someone so skinny, he sure is strong_ , Vilkas thought as he dropped the packs so he could prop his brother against a rock instead of lying face-flat on the snow. To his surprise, his twin felt no heavier than a feather. His gaze shifted towards the Altmer, still trying to catch his breath. _Did he use magic to carry Farkas all the way here?_ That would certainly explain how he carried his brother with ease despite his build, as well as why he quickly exhausted all of his energy.

            At the moment, the Nord allowed the mer to rest. The town was too far away that he couldn't see even the College's tall towers; they were actually much closer to the shores now. Inhaling deeply, his nose detected no one nearby so it would be safe to assume that none of the soldiers had followed them. Then again, he also couldn't pick up the scent of the apprentice.

            _Did he escape?_ Vilkas' brows furrowed as he frowned. While the lad still needed to work on his stealth skills, the Companion would commend him for the distraction. His honorable side actually urged him to return to town and save his hide.

            "No need to concern yourself. They'll be fine."

            Vilkas turned towards Nelacar who brushed the snow off his robes while standing up. While it concerned him how much his expression revealed his thoughts, he set that query aside and instead asked, " _they_?"

            Nelacar's hand pressed against the rock to steady himself. "Earlier I mentioned a contact, did I not?"

            Vilkas arched a brow. "And you think he's with the lad?"

            "Of course. His frenzy spell tends to be more compact before collision. Besides, lightning bolts are for apprentices to practice on. Causes mild injury and brief paralysis, but one shot is hardly deadly." Nelacar leaned against the rock, his hands hidden inside the sleeves of his robes while crossing his arms over his chest — no doubt the mer was already freezing from the cold wind whistling towards their direction. "In any case, we're suppose to meet him here. Just keep an eye out."

            _Nothing else to do but wait..._ Vilkas took a deep breath but suddenly straightened himself as he scanned the vicinity.

            Nelacar arched a brow. "Something wrong?"

            _Yeah, something's wrong. I just smelled that apprentice and some stranger I'm sure if it's a friend or foe but I can't see them anywhere!_ Vilkas restrained himself from yelling it though for it would open up many questions and he wasn't going to reveal any of the Circle's secrets. His ears strained to listen to any approaching footsteps but heard none. The scent was getting closer however and the wolf within him itched to track down the elusive prey.

            _Keep still!_ He scolded himself and forced his urges down as he exhaled a shaky breath. "Nothing... thought I saw someone."

            "Ah." Nelacar shifted slightly but added nothing.

            Vilkas nearly sighed in relief hadn't he caught himself. Instead, he kept his sense alert while scanning the vicinity. They were certainly nearby now. "So what does this contact of yours look like?"

            A small smile formed on Nelacar's lips. "Shady."

            "I heard that."

            Vilkas nearly jumped back as a male Bosmer suddenly appeared beside the calm Altmer. Onmund followed suit, standing just behind the Bosmer just as the latter released his wrist. _By Gods! Are they trying to give me a heart attack!?_

            "Enthir. Took you long enough." Nelacar pushed against the wall as he lowered his hands to his side; the Companion caught a glimpse of fading magic which reminded him of Valere's hand when she had been searching for that invisible necromancers at Fort Kastav.

            "Couldn't sneak away that easily; soldiers are on a hunt." Enthir handed the Altmer a pack to which the latter thanked him.

            “Well, that’s troublesome,” Nelacar mumbled.

            “There’s a secret passage back to the College,” Onmund explained. “That’s how we reached the town unnoticed.” His gaze turned towards the Companion who nodded.

            “A secret passage huh?” Enthir paused for a moment and mulled over something then he gestured a hand towards the shore. “Lead the way.”

            Nelacar pulled out two vials from his pack and drank its contents. Then he approached Farkas and was reaching for his arm when the latter stirred. He retracted his hands, his eyes widening as he mumbled, “that can’t be…”

            Vilkas immediately crouched beside his brother. “Farkas, you all right?”

            “Y-yeah…” Farkas exhaled a shaky breath as his arms twitched, though refrained from moving any further. “Can’t move much though… Feels like my head’s ‘bout to split open. Ugh... what did I drink?”

            “If you’re curious, Stros M’kai Rum combined with what the Dunmers in Morrowind recently call _Mephala’s Kiss_ ,” Enthir answered. “Mixing the latter in any liquor makes it quite the potent drug that should’ve sent you comatose for a week, at best.”

            “Shit…” Farkas groaned and tilted his head back against the rock. “Knew that stuff tasted weird.”

            Vilkas scowled. “Why’d you drink it then?” The older twin in him wanted to scold his brother but refrained since the latter was suffering enough with whatever crap those bastards gave him.

            “Said the cask was just some special mead from the Jarl’s storage.” Farkas tried to shrug but his shoulders merely twitched. “Thought t’was just some fancy noble drink. Didn’t taste that bad at first till after…” His brow furrowed. “I dunno… six… eight cups?”

            Enthir’s eyes widened. “Wait a sec... You had eight cups… before it took effect?” His head turned towards the Altmer, and when the latter nodded, he added, “how on Nirn are you still breathing?”

            “No time for that. The Stromcloaks would find us if we stay here any longer.” Vilkas stood up. His gut told him his twin’s quick recovery had something to do with the werewolf extraordinary resistance to poison, and if that was the case, he didn’t need these mages prodding them for answers.

            No one protested, and as soon as Vilkas and Onmund slung Farkas’ arms over their shoulders while each carried a pack, the four of them trudged down the snowy slopes towards the shore, with Vilkas and Onmund leading the way.

            “About earlier,” Onmund started while crossing the strait. His eyes remained looking forward, yet his brows furrowed and lips forming a small frown. “There were too many of soldiers, so I couldn’t sneak past them without getting caught…”

            Vilkas peered at him from the corner of his eye. He knew the look of someone with a wounded pride. If he had to guess, the lad wanted to prove his worth. For what reason, he could not say.

            Vilkas peered at him from the corner of his eye. He knew the look of someone with a wounded pride. If he had to guess, the lad wanted to prove his worth. For what reason, he could not say.

            “It’s fine. At least you managed to distract them.” He wasn’t sure if that was the best response since the apprentice pouted and put a great deal of effort to avoid looking at him.

            Vilkas sighed. Well, if he wanted to improve himself, mere compliments wouldn’t help him at all. Had he been a Companion, he yell that he man up and train some more. In his head though, he could see the Dragonborn’s exasperated expression; actually, he could practically picture how their conversation would go.

_“My… so sparing with giving compliments.”_

_“The boy isn’t going to learn from me saying nice things.”_

_“Have you ever heard of ‘constructive criticisms’?”_

_Fine! Fine!_ Vilkas groaned, and the sound caught the apprentice’s attention. Taking a deep breath, he said carefully, “just keep practicing, you’ll get it next time.”

            Onmund blinked for a moment and stammered, “I-I… uh... th-thanks… I guess...”

            Vilkas merely grunted in response; he could just see that smug grin of hers while just being positively beside herself.

            While the two elves raised the rocks to form some sort of steps for them to reached the cavern, that, this whole imaginary affair he then realized hadn't fazed him with the absurdity of the entire thing. Hearing her voice in his head just felt... natural. An opinion of hers, even if he would disagree with it, was something he welcome nonetheless. The safe presumption was that he respected her — begrudgingly, though in the back of his mind, he doubted that was the only reason. This wasn't the best time and place to ponder on such matters however, and so he set it aside as he followed the mages up the steps.

            Once their group emerged from The Midden, Vilkas and Onmund carried Farkas to the guest room to recuperate, then joined Enthir and Nelacar as they proceeded to the Arcaneum. Ascending the flight of stairs, they could hear the rest of the magisters' fervent voices echoing in the library's enormous hall.

            "I still think going with them is unwise. It may be just an invitation now," Faralda said. "But once you're within his hall, I doubt he'll let you leave without agreeing to join his cause."

            "True, that's why I need all information you have on our dear rebel jarl," Valere spoke and as Vilkas stepped out of the narrow spiraling hallway, he spotted her, along with the other magisters, gathered at far end of the library with the Arch Mage resting her hands on the librarian's table. The clanking of his metal armor caught her attention as she shifted her gaze towards him. "You're back."

            A simple statement but the smile on her lips told Vilkas enough of the great relief his return caused her. He couldn't help the small twitch of the corner of his lips as he returned the gesture with a small smile.

            Her smile disappeared however as she tilted her head to the side. "Nelacar?"

            "Arch Mage." The Altmer bowed slightly just as he had joined the Companion, followed by the male Bosmer

            Valere's eyes flickered to the other mer. "Enthir. You've been gone for quite a long time."

            "Longer than usual," Colette mumbled.

            "Business took a little longer to finish." Enthir replied to which it earned him a snort from the Dunmer Illusionist.

            "You mean smuggling..." Drevis mumbled low enough that Vilkas only managed to hear because of his heightened senses.

            "It's strange for you to show up here," Faralda said, arching a brow as she eyed her fellow Altmer. "Especially when you've been banished from the College."

 _Banished?_ Vilkas glanced back and forth between the male Altmer and the magisters — specifically Faralda, Drevis and Colette — who regarded said mer with disdain; the rest of the magisters, however, despite wariness, retained neutrality in their features, while Lydia and Marcurio were just as confused as he was.

            "I let him in," Enthir said as he stepped forward.

            Colette crossed her arms over her chest. "Care to explain why?"

            "Someone had to keep them from the Stormcloaks," Nelacar answered. "They're taking all measures to gain the upper hand."

            Enthir added as he pointed a thumb towards Vilkas, "To the point that they poisoned his brother to keep him comatose."

            "Poison?" Valere glanced back to the Companion. "Is Farkas all right?"

            "Awake but couldn't move," Vilkas replied.

            "Which could've worsened had I not given him potions to dilute the effects," Nelacar added, and again, three of the magisters were ready to throw a fireball at him.

            Vilkas met the Dragonborn's gaze and wondered if she could read how utterly confused he was by the situation. Perhaps she did when her lips mouthed, "apologies" before returning her attention to the other magisters. "Colette, Drevis, check on Farkas," Valere ordered. "You know where my special stock is kept should you require special ingredients."

            Colette pressed her lips tightly together while Drevis sighed heavily and muttered, "yes, Arch Mage."

            As the two exited the Arcaneum, Valere continued, "Faralda, would you please escort Nelacar to one of our guest rooms?"

            Faralda's shoulders tensed as she stared at the Dragonborn with eyes wide. "Arch Mage, you can't be serious!? You're letting him stay here!? After all he's done!?"

            "Valere, you know very well that I've turned my back on Malyn." Nelacar stepped forward only to be halted when the female Altmer glared at him. He still kept his gaze on the Dragonborn, however. "Please, a second chance is all I ask."

            "Even if he did, it doesn't erase the fact that he once followed that madman," Faralda rebutted, her body leaning forward as though she was ready to tackle him down.

            "Am I not allowed to make amends!?" Nelacar finally addressed the fellow Altmer.

            "Enough! Both of you!" Valere's voice echoed in the grand hall, silencing the two arguing elves. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "Faralda, take Nelacar to one of the guest rooms. We'll decide what to do with him tomorrow." When the female Altmer opened her mouth, the Dragonborn raised a hand and added, "and this isn't up for debate."

            "With the way those two are fighting, I won't be surprised if a portion of the College ends up with a large gaping hole before the night ends," Phinis whispered to the Orc.

            "So long as it's far away from the Arcaneum," Urag mumbled.

            "Arch Mage, if you would allow me to accompany them..." Tolfdir spoke to which the Dargonborn responded with a small smile.

            "Thank you Magister Tolfdir."

            As the three mages left, the Dragonborn beckoned Vilkas and Enthir to come closer. "Honestly Enthir, of all the time to bring Nelacar here..." She sighed heavily while massaging her temple.

            "He did offer to help," Enthir replied.

            "Not for free I imagine." Valere raised a brow. "What did you promise him?"

            He grinned slightly. "An... opportunity to get in your good graces."

            She snorted. "Not much of a guarantee; getting in my good graces isn't that easy."

            "He'd rather take the chance." He shrugged. "The things he'll do for love, I suppose."

            "Indeed..." She sighed. "I suppose I should speak to him later."

            Vilkas watched as the Dragonborn quietly peered towards the stairs. His lips frowned at the last bits of their conversation, though he convinced himself that it was due to his disdain of being used as a means to an end.

            "Back to more pressing issues... You seem to know more about the Stormcloaks' plans. Care to share them?" The change of topic from the Dragonborn was a welcome shift as he didn't wish for his mind to contemplate on the matter further.

            "I think you already know half of it," Enthir replied. "A friend of mine has a friend—"

            Sergius sighed. "Drop the cloak and dagger phrases. We've wasted enough time."

            Enthir's lips formed a thin line. "Very well... As I said earlier, Ulfric's men will drag you back to Windhelm by any means."

            "Yes, and they just demonstrated it by threatening to starve us to death if I don't come—"

            "Not just the College. He also ordered patrols on the road to seize the cargo you're supposed to deliver back to Whiterun. My guess is he plans to use it as leverage in case you refuse to join his cause."

            "Wait a minute." Marcurio stepped forward. "How did he—"

            "Spies." Lydia scowled and shook her head. "We should've taken extra precaution."

            "Obviously we can't use the front gate nor the main road," Vilkas spoke, stepping closer to the table and placing a finger on the spot on the map where said passage was located. "We take the cargo by boat." His finger traced a route towards Dawnstar. "And land here."

            "Dawnstar's still Stormcloak territory." Lydia stood beside her Thane, tracing the same route but moving past the Companion's finger. "Morthal would be a safer port."

            Urag shook his head. "No, Morthal's already too far. Not to mention the folks there are more skeptical with magic than the rest of Skyrim."

            "Could Falion help?" Valere asked. "We could pass this off as a delivery to him."

            "I highly doubt that," Phinis replied. "He's made it clear before he left that he doesn't want anything to do with the College."

            "Before we go anywhere further with this plan..." All heads turned towards Enthir as he spoke. "Consider the fact we would need a large boat to transport the cargo. And assuming I manage to contact one of my... acquaintances in Dawnstar, well, let's just say secrets and subtlety aren't their best traits, especially with the right amount of coin."

            "We could still travel by land." Marcurio stood beside the Companion and as he leaned closer to the table, his finger tracing a path from the secret passage, to the shore then up the hill heading towards the main road. "From here, we'll see a huge archway which if we follow the path and keep going west, we'd reach..." He slid his finger down as it continued to move to the left, passing by a ruin marked as Saarthal then stopped in an unknown area. "Alfand."

            "Huh..." Valere leaned closer, her hand reaching for the quill to mark the spot. "So that's where it is."

            "Valere... don't," Marcurio warned.

            "Relax. I'm not going there alone, I promise." She returned the quill back to the inkwell. "So where to from Alftand?"

            Marcurio traced down to a pass between two mountain. "Wayward Pass. From there, the path will lead us to the main close to the Nightgate Inn."

            "Is there no other way where could avoid the main road?" Lydia asked.

            Marcurio shook his head. "One way or the other, we need pass by the main road to reach Whiterun safely. Taking a detour might risk stumbling into bandit camps."

            "Bandits or Stormcloaks..." Valere sighed. "Between the daedra and the deep blue sea."

            "If that's your plan, then better leave now while the Stormcloaks' attention are elsewhere tonight," Enthir said. "Most likely, they'd be expecting you to leave for Whiterun after they leave for Windhelm."

            Valere's fingers tapped the table as she mused. "All right. Enthir, Marcurio, sneak the carriage from the stables. Sergius, are the armors ready?"

            The Imperial Enchanter nodded.

            "Good." Valere took a deep breath. "Now go. We'll meet you by the strait with the cargo." 

** END OF CHAPTER **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello everyone. Another update. This was longer than usual but I wasn't sure where to cut it. Anyway, hope you like it. Reviews are welcome as always. I'll update soon.


	12. Chapter 12

            ' _Feels good to be back_ ,' was Vilkas' initial thought the moment he spotted the Dragonsreach tower from the distance. The night's temperate climate welcomed him as the gentle cool breeze brushed against his skin. This was the kind of night where it felt good to let the beast out and just roam the vast plain — not that he would, as tempting as it was.

            Along the way, they encountered two patrolling guards. Lydia ordered one of them to inform the Jarl of their return. Hearing this, relief washed over Vilkas' body. Job done, despite the absence of their employer. Part of him regretted that they left the Dragonborn for the Stormcloaks; then again, she made a fair point — they wanted her more than the supply of enchanted armors.

            While the Stormcloak captain had men stationed in The Pale, only few had patrolled the roads. They hadn't even engaged any when their carriage had traversed the main road. _They were definitely close by, I could practically smell them lurking behind the trees._

            He scoffed. Had they been planning an ambush while their party camped for the night, then their plan was futile. Marcurio had already suggested they rest near the Dwemer ruin — Alftand if he recalled the name correctly — before their journey to Wayward Pass.

            By the time their carriage reached the gates, several guards were already waiting, including — to everyone's surprise — the Jarl of Whiterun, along with his steward and housecarl. Lydia's horse halted just as the three approached. "My Jarl." She slid off from her saddle and bowed lightly before her eyes scanned the vicinity. "This is... unexpected."

            "So is your arrival." Jarl Balgruuf shifted his attention from her to the carriage behind. "As well as the Dragonborn's absence."

            "There was..." Lydia paused and averted her gaze. "An incident."

            Other than the small frown forming on his lips, the Jarl remained stoic. "I see... Proventus."

            Said man approached the two Companions with two heavy pouches on his hands. "For the services you rendered. I'm certain you'll find them more than adequate."

            "Lydia, come," Jarl Balgruuf ordered and said housecarl followed without question, though not before sparing a glance past the two Companions. When Vilkas turned around, he caught the Imperial mage's small nod before the latter gave him a small grin.

            "Job well done, wouldn't you say?" Marcurio patted the twins' backs. "Well, except for losing our employer but the important thing is we brought everything back here safely."

            "Uh... yeah, sure..." Farkas glanced over to his brother who regarded the Imperial with a blank stare.

            "I think this calls for a celebration." Marcurio's lips stretched but his smile never reached his eyes. "There's a crate of Black-Briar Mead just for this occasion back at Breezehome—Valere's, not mine— but I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

            Vilkas scrutinized the mage. _Forced smile, racing heartbeat, tensed shoulders, something's up._ In the corner of his eye, the guards passed while carrying the crates from the carriage to the gates. At first look, they seemed focused on the task at hand, but he caught a glimpse of a few glancing their way.

            "So...?" Marcurio raised an eyebrow.

            Jerking his head to the side, Vilkas responded, "lead the way."

            Marcurio grinned. "Excellent."

            Farkas lightly nudged his twin's side, but said nothing. He just furrowed his brows and tilted his head slightly to the side.

            Vilkas knew that look — one his brother gave when the latter knew something was up but didn't have a clue what it was. "You go ahead. Tell everyone we're back."

            "And you?"

            Vilkas picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder. "Getting a drink." He then walked ahead and followed the mage.

            Stepping inside Breezehome, Vilkas instinctively studied the furnishings and decors of the Dragonborn's cozy little house; nothing there indicated that the owner absorbed dragon souls for a living, killed bandits on the side, nor dabbled in advanced mystic arts as a hobby. Even the books he spotted on the shelves were nothing one couldn't buy from Belethor's. The normalcy of it all was just too surreal for him. Briefly, he wondered if this was all some sort of illusion.

            "Shocked me too the first time." Marcurio's statement brought the warrior out from his musings. "Thought I walked in the wrong house." His hand gestured at one of the chairs near the fire pit. "Have a seat."

            Reluctantly, Vilkas did so whilst still inspecting the interior.

            "Where's your brother?"

            "Busy,"

            Marcurio sighed. "Right. Let me just get—"

            "Cut to the chase."

            The Imperial halted from going to the room at the back then turned around, his brow arched up. Vilkas added, "you wouldn't invite me here unless you want something. What is it?"

            "Can't I just invite a friend for a drink or two?"

            Vilkas scoffed. " _Friends_? Since when?"

            Marcurio smiled slowly. "Smarter than you look. Good." Ignoring the Companion's glare, he entered the back room then emerged with two bottles in one hand and a slim sheathed sword in the other.

            Vilkas examined the scabbard, then shifted his gaze to the Imperial as the latter lay the weapon  on his lap. Dumbfounded, he reluctantly reached for the hilt and slowly pulled out the single-edged slim blade. His eyes widened. "I don't understand..."

            Marcurio began, "it's an Akaviri sword—"

            "I know what it is," Vilkas shot back. "What I mean is, why?" An exotic blade like this wasn't something people just give away so easily. Even if the owner wasn't a warrior, certainly they would still consider it as a valuable artifact.

            Marcurio shrugged. "A question you should ask Valere when you two meet again."

            Vilkas' brow arched. " _When_ we meet again?"

            "That's the other reason why I wanted to talk to you." Marcurio sat down on the chair beside the Companion's. "We hoped you can render your services again."

            " _We_?"

            "Lydia and I."

            Vilkas' eyes narrowed. "Just you two? No manipulative elf pulling the strings?"

           "Let me ask..." Marcurio leaned back against his chair but his arm stretched forward as he offered the bottle of mead. "Knowing the Dragonborn for more than two weeks, do you think she's the sort who'd let someone— anyone— risk their life to save hers?"

            Vilkas chose not to answer, and instead, took the offered alcohol, uncorked it and chugged down half of its contents. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, "What exactly do you want me to do?"

            "So you'll take the job?"

            "No."

            "But you're interested?"

            Vilkas paused. He could just flat-out refuse this job and walk away. Let them find someone else. He was done with her and whatever mess she would get herself into. But a part of him wanted to get involved. Was it his sense of honor? Sense of adventure? Both?

            "Just want to know everything first before I make a decision," he replied. "And I mean _everything_. No more hidden agendas."

            Marcurio took his time in sipping the mead, but his eyes never left the Nord. "I can't give you all the details right now. It may not even come to that point if the meeting goes well. But if it doesn't, I want to make sure that your services will be available."

            "Why me?"

            "Because you can hit things and lie."

            Vilkas' hand clenched tightly on the bottle. "You dare insult my honor!?"

            Yet Marcurio remained calm as he took another sip from the bottle. "No, I'm complimenting your skill and determination to get a job done." Not receiving any response aside from a glare, he drank the rest of his mead then stood up. "Another one?" The other man still remained silent whilst fixing him a deep scowl, hence, he added, "consider it a... peace offering for unintentionally offending your honor."

            Vilkas twitched but forced himself to calm down. Getting pissed wasn't worth it. Taking a deep breath, he replied, "fine."

            As the mage rummaged in the back room, Vilkas contemplated on his options. Infiltration wasn't his forte; stalking perhaps but then, it wasn't like he would be tracking a deer in the woods; although the idea of hunting down the Dragonborn as some kind of prey tickled his beast's interest. Just imagine pinning her down from behind and leaning down at the back of her neck. The scent of fear from that powerful mortal makes her all the more enticing to ravage—

            "Vilkas?"

            The Companion snapped out of his thoughts and looked up from the fire pit to the Imperial who held two bottles of Black Briar Mead. "What?"

            "Everything all right? You look..."

            Vilkas heard the loud thumping of the other man's heart as the latter stood stiffly. He must've looked murderous. "Yeah. Just... thinking."

            "Right..." Marcurio nodded and, after handing the mead to the other man, he settled back down to his chair.

            Vilkas could still hear the Imperial's heartbeat racing despite the casualness of the latter's posture while slowly sipping his drink. Hence, he awkwardly cleared his throat and began, "assuming I'll take the job, who am I going with?"

            Marcurio blinked then he shook his head. "Just you, I'm afraid. Most likely, Lydia and I had been marked by the Stormcloaks and there are spies even here in Whiterun. If we make any suspicious move, it'll reach Ulfric's ears even before we can leave the gates."

            "I might've been marked as one by now. They did try to use me and Farkas as bargaining tools."

            "You were a means to an end to them. Besides, you're a mercenary. Doubt anyone expects loyalty from you after finishing a job."

            "Aren't you the same?"

            "Not since Valere hired me. My services after that had been... strictly exclusive." Marcurio took a long swig from the bottle. "I suggest taking random jobs for the time being. Any job — fetch-me-this, punch-that-prick, shovel-these-cowpat — doesn't matter which; so long as they think you're no longer involved."

            "Assuming that we fool the spies here, I can't just stroll in Windhelm," Vilkas pointed out. "There'll be soldiers there who'd still recognize me."

            "Then I suggest you lose that..." Marcurio pointed at the Companion armor and then the warrior's face. "And the beard."

            Vilkas' hand reached up his jaw, his fingers brushing against his facial hair. Normally, he had already trimmed it — if not shaved it off — but then it helped in keeping him warm during their stay in Winterhold that it seemed impractical to get rid of it.

            "Also, wash off the war paint."

            Vilkas nodded absent-mindedly and drank some more mead. _Makes sense..._ He rarely left Jorvaskr without it. He had to wonder though, what if Valere wouldn't recognize him? What did she think about his war paint anyway? Intimidating? Probably not; she fought dragons every what— fortnight? A glaring six-foot warrior would be unimpressive compared to giantic lizards.

            "Anything else?"

            Marcurio mused. "Maybe trim your hair—"

            Vilkas slashed his hand through the air, silencing the mage. "Okay, that's where I draw the line." He had been forced to cut his hair short once; it was after some sticky sap stuck on his long hair while he and his fellow new-bloods were dealing with some smugglers in a cave. It was five months of non-stop insults from the rest of the Companions.

            Marcurio rolled his eyes. "It's just hair. It'll grow back."

            "Not the point." The very idea of Valere seeing that ridiculous hair irked Vilkas to no end. He could practically hear every form of mockery coming out of her lips.

            "Oh come on!"

            "No." No mission or any amount of septim would convince him otherwise — especially...

            "Would you just do it for—"

            "Not cutting it for Valere."

            Silence fell as it dawned on both men what Vilkas had just said. Then, a small grin slowly formed on Marcurio's lips. "'Valere'? I was going to say 'for your own safety'. "

            Blood rushed up Vilkas' face. _Damn the mead!_ "I-it's not— that is—" When the mage started chuckling, his eyes narrowed. "Shut it."

            Yet, the glare did nothing to intimidate Marcurio who continued to laugh. "Apologies. I've never considered..."

            "It's not like that."

            "Of course."

            Vilkas breathed slowly and deeply then, after setting the bottle down on the floor, he stood up. "If there's nothing else, I'm going home."

            "Already drunk?"

            "Tired." Vilkas picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder. When he turned to face the mage, the latter had his brow arched. "What?"

            "Nothing." Marcurio stood up. "Lydia will update you with the plan. Give her a few days then she'll contact you."

            "And you?"

            "Leaving for Markarth on the morrow."

            Vilkas' brow furrowed. "Why?"

            "Research." Marcurio opened the door and smiled. "Sure you won't change your mind? Travelling back to Riften is dangerous. I am willing to pay any amount."

            For a moment, Vilkas just blinked, wondering what the mage was babbling about. Then the sound of clanking armor caught his attention. Side-glancing, he spotted two guards as they slowed their pace when passing by Breezehome. Despite the full helmets hiding their faces, he could sniff their uneasiness from where he stood. His gut told him they were watching — or it could be his paranoia. Either way, he wasn't taking any chances. "Not interested. Find someone else."

            Marcurio sighed. "Shame. Well, have a pleasant evening. It was a pleasure doing business with the Companions." And with that, he shut the door. The guards had then sped their pace up the stairs leading to the residential district.

            Vilkas had half a mind to stalk them but reminded himself to play an uninvolved disinterested third party until further instruction. Turning the other way towards the market district, he headed back to Jorvaskr.

 

~oOo~

 

            The main gate of Windhelm opened as the Stormcloaks marched across the bridge over the White River. Valere, while flanked by tall burly soldiers, glanced up and examined the old yet well-fortified stone walls. In all of her years in Skyrim, she never had the opportunity to visit the famed City of Kings — as what Vilkas had called it once while regaling her with the Companions' history. Nor had she been inclined to visit simply out of sheer curiosity; even before this gods-cursed war, there were stories of its residents'... inhospitable disposition towards just about anyone who wasn't a Nord. Shame really, despite its dreary, unwelcoming atmosphere, it would've been a great source of information about Skyrim's history.

            _Maybe 'His Highness' will let me at least explore for a few hours..._ she thought. After all, the only exit from the city would be the properly patrolled long bridge. Assuming she decided to escape, an invisibility spell wouldn't last long enough for her to cross Imperial territory — not to mention that she barely knew the landscape of Eastmarch and would most likely be found by Ulfric's men while lost in the woods.

            "Move it elf."

            Valere stumbled as a hand roughly pushed her forward. Looking over shoulders, she glared at the captain who sneered as he walked past her and the soldiers guarding her. Yet, she chose to hold her tongue; as much as she wanted to send the man flying straight to the nearest stone wall, she wasn't stupid enough to antagonize him further while still inside the bear's den.

            At the far end of the city loomed the Palace of the Kings. It was difficult not to admire the impressive castle. More than four eras had passed and still, it stood so mightily even as countless blizzards, among others, battered its walls. It reminded her of every Nords' unyielding determination.

            _Or stubbornness..._

            Vilkas briefly crossed Valere's mind when she thought of that, and from there, recalled what Nelacar had told her just before she left the College. However, any further musings were put on hold as the large metal doors creaked open, revealing to her to the palace's interior.

            Out of all the things currently present in the main hall, what caught Valere's attention was the most uncomfortable seat on top of a plinth at the end of the room. _Probably next to Jarl Igmund's, but then again, at least it's not freezing in Markarth._ Even the braziers on both sides of the throne certainly couldn't keep it warm. Either way, she noted to give Ulfric some sort of self-warming enchanted throw pillows as a victory gift should he win the war.

            _Speaking of the man, where is he?_ Valere looked around for anyone matching the description of an egotistic arse. The soldiers on her flank had left her side as they spoke to the two guards stationed by the door. The captain, meanwhile, had approached a mustached Nord in fine clothing. The two discussed something she couldn't pick up but judging by their hand movements, she would guess that it wasn't pleasant. In the end, the captain huffed before he stomped away to the room on the east side of the main hall.

            Said well-dressed man then approached her with a warm smile she had not expected from anyone in this surly city. "Ah, Dragonborn. It's good you've accepted the Jarl's invitation."

            _Time for diplomacy._ Valere returned the smile with the same warmth. "It is an honor. In all honesty, I've also been meaning to speak to Jarl Ulfric regarding the dragons, but I wasn't certain who to approach." Her smile turned sheepish. "I'm afraid my political connections are very limited."

            "Yes, the Jarl also wished to discuss with you that matter," the Nord replied. " Your arrival, however, is unexpected. We assumed that you'd be arriving tomorrow noon, not tonight."

            "Your captain ordered a forced march to Windhelm. He seemed adamant about it; I presumed the meeting is urgent, so I chose to comply." _Or more like I had no choice but to do so. It was either walk freely or be dragged in chains._

            The man frowned then inclined his head forward. "I must apologize for his behavior."

            "It quite all right, er..."

            "Jorleif, my lady. I am the Jarl's steward."

            "A pleasure, Jorleif."

            The steward called over two servants who then carried her pack and staff. "Your quarters' this way. If you'll follow me please."

            Valere joined him as they ascended the southwestern stairs of the main hall, all while she listened to him informing her of the castle's layout. The man seemed amiable to her surprise. Part of her thought that she would need to cast an illusion spell on everyone in the city just to get along with them. Then again, maybe he was just an exception.

            "Unfortunately, the Jarl's still in a meeting with his housecarl," Jorleif explained. "But it will be over soon."

            They stopped, and the steward opened the door. Valere examined the well-lit room's furnishings — a double bed at the center, asome dressers, a table with two wooden chairs, and shelves filled with books and figurines. The two servants entered and set her things down beside the dresser, then four mre female servants arrived — two carrying the tub filled with hot water, one carrying the dressing screen, and another an emerald lambswool dress lined with vair.

            Her brow arched up as she faced the servants. "... Thank you?" _Is this some form of bribery? Ulfric's buttering me up, isn't he?_

            "Is there anything else you need Dragonborn?" Jorleif said.

            Valere smiled. "This is more than enough. Thank you Jorleif."

            "A pleasant evening then my lady."

            The steward and four servants bowed lightly and left. With a flick her of hand, the door's lock clicked shut. Sighing, she eyed the tub behind the screen. If this was his plan to persuade her to join, he needed a better offer.

            Still, she saw nothing wrong with indulging a bit; the hot bath looked inviting. So she stripped off her robes, loosened the tie of her ponytail, and slowly submerged her body into the water. The tub was meant for a Nord so there was more room for her legs to stretch.

            Leaning her head back against the edge, she stared at the ceiling whilst letting her mind wander off. _The others probably crossed The Pale border by now._ Holding her breath, she sank her head under the water and washed the grime off her hair. _Knowing Lydia, she'll try mounting a rescue, probably petition the Jarl for soldiers to accompany her._ She hoped Balgruuf would deny it; but then Lydia's rarely discouraged should the first plan fail, especially if it involved her duties, such as protecting her Thane.

            Valere stepped out of the tub and quickly grabbed the lcloth hanging on top of the screen. "She isn't reckless at least," she said whilst hurriedly drying her skin as goosebumps dotted every inch of it. _Hopefully I escape before whatever plan she has comes into fruition._

            Her gaze darted over to the dress on her bed. For a moment, she considered sticking to her robes out of defiance— let Ulfric know that no matter what luxurious items he showered her, she wasn't interested in joining this stupid war. But offending a Jarl — an arrogant one at that — was just asking for the headman's axe, and her title as Dragonborn might not save her this time. Nobles generally tended to be irrational when they felt their honor had been slighted.

            So she donned her smallclothes, followed by a linen shift, and over the warm dress. As she pulled up the two pairs of hose for her legs, someone knocked on the door.

            "Who is it?" Valere said whilst lacing her boots that reached up to her knees.

            "Supper, my lady," a woman's voice replied.

            Flicking her hand, the door opened as a servant entered while holding a tray with both hands. The smell of hot mouth-watering venison stew wafted through her nostrils. Her stomach then grumbled, reminding her that her last meal had been this morning which consisted of just a loaf of bread with goat cheese. The servant set the tray down on the table and that was when Valere noticed there were two bowls and two bottles of mead.

            "Dragonborn."

            Turning towards the door, Valere found a blonde Nord standing so regal and upright in his chainmail and fur-trimmed surcoat. _He definitely fits the description._

            She bowed her head and responded, "Jarl Ulfric."

            The man entered casually as his eyes surveyed the room. For a moment, he remained silent, which gave Valere this urge to fidget or speak just to fill the awkward gap. But she restrained herself. This is what he wanted — for her to open up first. So she just watched him quietly as he strolled the fairly large room whilst examining the furnishings.

            "W-will this be all my jarl?" The servant's hesitant voice broke the silence. Her body stiffened as two pairs of eyes focused on her. "I-if there's anything else..."

            Then the jarl's gaze shifted, his blue eyes met green. "I trust everything suits your needs?"

            "Yes, this is more than adequate." Valere stretched her lips but the smile never reached her eyes. _If he wanted to intimidate me, the throne room would be the best place. So what's he doing here?_

            "You may go," Ulfric told the servant who, after bowing, scurried off and closed the door behind her. He then gestured a hand towards the table, a small smirk on his lips. "Join me."

            _Shouldn't that be my line?_ Valere thought while staring at his hand. After all, this was her meal... Or is it? The food, the silverware, the room, everything in this castle, they were and always would be his; and he could feed her full or starve her to death, depending on his whim.

            Her nose flared at the sheer audacity of this man. But more than that, it infuriated her that she could do nothing but play his game, because right now, she lacked enough information to form a solid strategy against him. So, she forced a smile and replied, "thank you, your grace."

            They sat across each other and ate. The stew was delicious, Valere would admit to that, but her focus was entirely on Ulfric's next move that she cared little if the meal was worse than what she would cook.

            The 'would-be-king' ate quietly, so calm and composed that she wondered if he even noticed the palpable tension in the room. The very sight irked her that she decided to make a move. "How goes the war, your grace?"

            Ulfric took his time in drinking his mead before he replied, "Well enough. How goes the dragon menace?"

            "Proceeding well." _Evasive, aren't we? I can use this._ Valere took a slow sip of her mead. _Either the stalemate bothers him or he's losing more than I realized._ Maybe that was why he needed her to join them — an elf, among other things. "Now that you've mentioned it, I just remembered. I've stumbled upon an Imperial camp along the Rift while taking down a dragon." She held back a grin as the jarl stopped midway from bringing his spoon to his mouth.

            Ulfric lowered the spoon back to the bowl. "Interesting." He leaned forward, his lower arms now resting on the table. "Tell me more."

            Valere grinned and leaned back. "Oh? I thought your war's doing well."

            Ulfric's lips curled into a deep scowl. "It wasn't a request."

            "Every information has its price."

            "Yes, your head for that location."

            "My head?" Valere threw her head back and laughed. "Pray tell, oh future High King, do you have a spare Dragonborn tucked away somewhere?"

            Silence enveloped the room once more, but this time, she reveled in every second of it.

            Shoulders tensed, the jarl narrowed his eyes. "What do you want?"

            _Now we're getting somewhere._ "Simple." She leaned forward. "Freedom. I'll tell you the location, and in exchange, you will leave me and my associates alone."

            "No."

            "Ulfirc, don't be unrea—"

            "It's _Jarl_ Ulfric." He stood up suddenly, his large frame casting a shadow over her. "Remember that the next time you flaunt your insolence."

            Valere met his gaze and glared back, matching the same intensity as his. "Tell me the reason then. Why bring me here? Why threaten the College?" He did not answer so she stood up and despite how short she was compared to him, she did not falter as she continued, "is it for the rebellion? If that's the case, let me tell you this: I have no interest in your petty war."

            She expected another threat, maybe an attempt to bribe her with lands and titles. What she didn't expect was the blank stare he gave before he burst out laughing.

            Blinking, all she could say was, "w-what...?"

            The man continued laughing for a few more seconds, and when it died down, he smirked. "That's presumptuous of you, _elf_. What makes you think _I_ want _you_ in my army?"

            Blood rushed up to her cheeks; all she wanted to do then was bury herself under a hole. Was Enthir wrong? No, that can't be. He had always been accurate with his information. _Could he have lied?_ No, she knew Enthir well enough that his loyalty had and always would be with the College and he owed her enough favors not to double-cross her.

            Ulfric sat down again, this time with a smug grin plastered on his face. "But if you truly want to serve in my army, perhaps I can find you something to do. We're still in need of serving girls or bed-warmers—"

            " _YOL!_ "

            Poised as though she was a sabrecat ready to lunge, Valere panted as the burst of fire passed over the jarl's shoulder and struck the wall behind, leaving burnt marks on it once the flames had died down. "One more insult, _Ulfric_..." She hissed, "and I swear, I will not miss."

            Despite the threat, the jarl still remained unfazed. "Has Master Arngeir failed to teach you not to use the _Thu'um_ so irresponsibly?"

            "Like what you did with Torygg? Killing a young man with your Shout?"

            "My blade killed him, making him an even more incompetent ruler."

            For a moment, she thought her accusation broke through him; his jaws clenching tightly at the mention of his crime. However, guards suddenly burst in the room led by an old burly Nord wearing a bear helmet. "Ulfric, the whole palace just shook. What—" The scorch marks caught his attention. "What in Oblivion—" Drawing his sword, he charged towards the Dragonborn. "You bitc—"

            "Galmar. Stay your hand," Ulfric ordered.

            "But, she—"

            "—Merely honored me with her Voice." He stood up. "And I was about to return the favor." Closing his eyes, he shouted, " _YOL_!"

            The fire passed over Valere's shoulder as well, the flames almost caressing her cheek. _That bastard!_ She wanted to strangle him— burn him— especially with the haughty look on his face. But she couldn't — not with Galmar and his men in the room, not when his soldiers still occupy Winterhold, not when spies still hide in Whiterun.

            And this just brought her back to square one— where she had no choice but to play by his rules. Through gritted teeth, she begrudgingly asked, "so, _your grace_ , what is it you ask from me?" The man looked so pleased with himself that it was hard not to slap him then and there.

            "There is something that requires your skill," Ulfric explained, "a dragon guards an old Nordic ruin in The Pale. It has attacked anyone that comes near the area."

            _Must be guarding a Shout,_ Valere mused. "And which ruin is this?"

            "Korvanjund."

** END OF CHAPTER **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi guys. Sorry if this took a while. Law school kept me busy again and during Christmas break, a really strong typhoon hit my hometown, so I couldn't upload this. Plus, I think I rewritten this chapter thrice because I couldn't decide whether to put Valere's scene here or not. Hence, this chapter is longer than usual. And, oh god, this is the first time I've written Ulfric and I'm not sure if I got him right. Let me know if he's out of character.


	13. Chapter 13

            _Korvanjund..._

            This name echoed in Valere's head as she lay down on the bed that night whilst staring at the ceiling. _What on Nirn does Ulfric want from there?_ He never disclosed anything earlier, only instructed her to meet them in the war room after breaking her fast.

            _Not like I have a choice._ She huffed and turned to the side. No point on wasting sleeping hours. She would figure it out tomorrow.

            The next day, after finishing her morning meal, two guards escorted to the war room. Upon entering, her eyes scanned the area only to find no one else but Ulfric whose brows furrowed whilst he studied the map on the table.

            Valere approached him. "Where are the others?" The man was already aware of her ill-feelings towards him, why waste time with false pleasantries?

            "Morning training with the soldiers."

            He provided no further response so she just awkwardly stood there near the door whilst the blonde man poured all his attention on the map. Her brow twitched as she glared at his back, "If I am not needed, then I'll come back later."

            She turned around, but as her hand reached for the door, Ulfric spoke, "stay."

            Halting, Valere looked over her shoulder and found the jarl, whilst turning around, had uncertainty written all over his features. None of his haughtiness — just a person trying to gather his thoughts. Of course, she could just be imagining things since it was gone a split-second later, replaced by stoicism.

            "Last night," Ulfric began. "We started on the wrong foot."

            Valere snorted. "That started long before I've arrived in Windhelm."

            "If you mean the incident in Winterhold, that was merely to get your attention."

            Her brow twitched. "Get my attention? By threatening my College? Does the _honorable_ future High King resort to blackmails now?"

            "A necessary strategy—"

            "Strategy!?" She stomped towards the jarl and jobbed a finger at his chest. "You had your men poison one of my comrades — a poison so lethal that magic barely saved him."

            Silence fell as Ulfric stared at her wide-eyed. "I gave no such orders."

            Valere scoffed. "Of course you'll deny it. What would everyone think? _You_ , resorting to poison. Oh, the scandal if word got out!"

            His lips curled into a deep scowl. "I've done many things for the cause but poison isn't one of them." Shaking her head, she turned away; thus, he quickly added, "as a show of good faith, I'll have Captain Valdas and his men investigated, and sanctioned should your accusations prove to be true."

            _Just that?_ She snorted. "Diplomacy isn't your forte, is it my Jarl?"

            "What do you want then?"

            _Your head on a silver platter_ , she wanted to say but held her tongue. Best not to push her luck. "I've already told you last night."

            From Ulfric's stoic face, she could presume two things: either he was hesitating or he was considering. After few more seconds of silence, he replied, "help me with the dragon at Korvanjund, and your College or any of your associates will receive no more threats from me."

            Valere's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized his statement. "How can I be sure that you'll keep your end of the bargain?"

            "I swear on my father's grave."

            _You swore fealty to Torygg as well, but look what happened_ , she thought. While she still did not fully trust the man, his offer — should he hold his end of the bargain — was a good deal. Besides, what good would it do if he double-cross her? He certainly didn't want her in his army, and such a thing was considered a dishonorable act by Nord standards, and thus, it could lessen morale from his supporters.

            Ulfric raised a brow. "Are these terms suitable?"

            "One more thing," Valere replied. "I'd like to know what you want from Korvanjund."

            Silence hung heavy inside the war room as Ulfric's lips curled into a deep frown. "That information is irrelevant. You only need to kill the dragon. After that, you are free to leave."

            She crossed her arms over her chest. "If you think I'm spying for the Imperial Legion—"

            "I'm certain you're not one now," he said, "but I have no guarantee that you won't be in the future. You owe me no loyalty after all."

            _Point taken._ Valere drummed her fingers against her upper arm as she considered her next words carefully. "Is the Legion aware of this mission?"

            "No."

            "Is there a chance they would be?"

            "No."

            Valere arched a brow. "How can you be sure?"

            "This is a covert mission. Only a few of my elite and most trusted men will accompany you. Also, my soldiers in Hjaalmarch and The Reach are keeping them occupied."

            "... I see."

            Ulfric reached out his hand. "So, do you accept?"    

            Valere paused as she stared at it. "Very well."

            The two shook hands just as Galmar entered with another officer in tow. The old bear halted when he witnessed the scene then he and the jarl shared a long stare. Valere's eyes shifted back and forth those two Nords, yet their small frowns suggested that Galmar knew of the rebel leader's offer to her and the older man disapproved of it.

            Finally, Ulfric broke away as his hand gestured for them to approach the table. "Let's start."

 

~oOo~

 

            _Five, fucking, days.._ Vilkas sighed as leaned against a fence while keeping an eye on the new bloods who were pulling the weeds from the fertile soil of Pelagia Farm. _And still no word._

            He took this crap job of babysitting the whelps while they served their punishment in hopes that he wouldn't be stuck here for more than two days. Rescuing the Dragonborn was an urgent matter, after all. Yet, no updates arrived. He hadn't even seen Lydia anywhere since her meeting with the Jarl.

            _Was it the spies?_ Vilkas shook his head. Even with Ulfric's men lurking about, she could still have found a way to send a coded note at least. _Something must've gone wrong_ , he thought. Or perhaps she found another way, and thus, his skills were no longer needed.

            Vilkas huffed. _If that's the case, good riddance._ He didn't even care what happens to the elf. Let her deal with her own problems and whatever political bullshit that came with them.

            "How long do we have to do this?"

            Vilkas shot Torvar a sharp glare when the latter's complaint pulled him out from his thoughts. "Two more farms."

            Another whelp groaned — a Nord lad by the name of Reikil who recently just joined them. "Aren't Companions supposed to kill bandits and rescue damsels? Not... take care of farms and shovel horse shit."

            "This is just reserved for idiots we need to bail out from jail."

            "I keep tellin' you, we didn't start the fight!" Torvar protested.

            "T'was the captain," Reikil added. "Kept givin' us this nasty look. We were just drinkin' quietly at the bar. Just ask Hulda."

            Vilkas growled. "Less whining, more pulling." As the whelps returned to work, his hand rubbed his face. After taking deep breaths, he muttered, "why did I even volunteer..."

            "You tell me."

            Looking over his shoulder, Vilkas spotted Aela's approach. "What are you doing here?"

            "Tilma's looking for you," she replied, just as she halted on the other side of the fence. "We're almost out of venison and pheasant breast."

            His brows furrowed. "So?"

            She rolled her eyes. "So, better get moving before we run out of them."

            He scowled. "Why me?"

            "You're the chore-boy."

            "Since when?"

            She grinned. "Since you volunteered."

            He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "You do it."

            "I'm leaving." She shrugged her shoulder. It was only then when Vilkas noticed her pack.

            "Why?"

            Aela sighed. "And I thought your brother's the ice-brain." She ignored his glare and continued, "it's almost that time of the month— and I mean the _other_ time of the month."

            "I know what you mean," Vilkas shot back. He didn't need her telling him that; the beast within him had began to stir. And once Secunda turned to its full phase, no amount of meditation could stop the wolf from clawing its way out — another reason why he needed that damn update from Lydia. Just imagine what could happen if he suddenly transformed in the middle of Windhelm. What wuuld everyone think! What would Valere think...

            "Hey, Vilkas." Aela poked his cheek. "Are you listening?"

            Snapping out from his musing, he swatted her finger away. "What?"

            "I said, get moving. Those meat aren't going to order themselves."

            "Fine, fine..." Vilkas grumbled then called the two new bloods, "we're done for today."

            "Gods be praised!" Both Torvar and Reikil exclaimed as the former raised his hands up in the air while the latter stood up and stretched his back.

            "Be here by sunrise tomorrow," Vilkas ordered as he fixed both whelps with a stern look then walked away despite the groans and protests from the two other men.

            Aela left then after meeting Skjor by the stables. Vilkas watched the two leave, his mouth forming a small frown. 'Out for a long hunt' had always been their excuse to the other members of the Companions, but those in the inner circle knew better. The 'prey' of their hunts were not always the beasts lurking in the woods. He was far from religious, but gods, he prayed they would be careful and not kill someone important.

            Once Vilkas returned to Jorvaskr, Tilma handed him the list of supplies that needed to be ordered. Afterwards, he went to the marketplace, visiting Carlotta's stall then to Anoriath who listed the number of meat to be delivered to Jorvaskr tomorrow afternoon.

            "Venison, pheasant breasts, potatoes, leeks, cabbages, apples..." He mumbled as he checked the items on the list. "Hmmm, that's about it." Picking up the four crates of purchased fruits and vegetables, he turned to the stairs leading to the Gildergreen tree only to bump into someone.

            "Watch it!" He shouted as some of the top crate fell on the ground, the apples scattering all over.

            "I'm so sorry," the guard said, her voice muffled by her full helmet. She immediately asked Carlotta for another crate then aided the Companion in gathering the apples. "Please, let me carry these for you."

            "It's fine. I got this," Vilkas replied whilst trying to keep his temper from getting the better of him. He grabbed one side of the crate but the guard held onto the other.

            "No. _I insist_."

            His brows shot up. _Wait a minute. That voice..._ He sniffed; the scent of steel, oil and lavender wafted through his nostrils. Huffing, he loosened his grip on the crate and added another one on top of it. "Fine. Carry these."

            The two ascended the stairs, neither sharing a word to each other. Other citizens mrely passed by; some perhaps, spared a quick glance before they returned to whatever task they were doing beforehand.

            The mead hall had been empty when they entered. From the cheering noises and faint sound of clashing metal coming from the yard at the back, the new bloods were probably training while the rest watched.

            "This way," Vilkas said as he led the guard to the larder.

            As soon as the door closed behind her, the guard reached for her helmet and lifted it up. "Vilkas, it's me, Lyd—"

            "Don't take it off," Vilkas said in a hushed tone. "Someone might walk in."

            Lydia nodded and lowered the helmet back on her head. "I apologize if I failed to contact you sooner. I was being watched."

            He raised a brow. "By Ulfric's spies?"

            She shook her head. "No, the Jarl's."

            "The Jarl's?" His brow furrowed. "I understand if he doesn't want to send soldiers with you, but he can't restrain you from saving her. You're her housecarl—"

            "I'm not."

            "What do you mean you're not—"

            "Valere's no longer a thane."

            The news dropped like cold water poured on top of Vilkas' head. His mouth opened but no words came out; he didn't even know which question to begin with. When he did manage to speak, the words came out of his lips like a soft whisper, "I don't understand... why?"

            "The Legion found out."

            "But we were careful. We didn't even encounter any legionnaire on the road."

            "No, not the armors." Lydia paced around in that small space. "They received a report that the Dragonborn had been seen with Ulfric's soldiers. They used it to pressure Jarl Balgruuf into choosing a side — to prove that he wasn't working with Ulfric..."

            "So he renounced her title... to remain neutral," Vilkas said as he slowly pieced together the information.

            Lydia nodded as she sighed heavily.

 _An entire army at their disposal and still the Legion can't get their facts right!_ Vilkas cursed under his breath and shook his head. "How can they even consider her joining the Stormcloaks? She was blackmailed for Mara's sake!"

            "Do you think I haven't told them that!?" Lydia paused just as she began to raise her voice. Partially lifting the helmet, her hand reached underneath and rubbed her face whilst taking deep breaths. Once calmed down, she lowered it again and continued, "The Legion received reports mentioning that she was spotted walking freely around Windhelm's marketplace, even getting fitted into an armor by the Stormcloaks' blacksmith."

            "Bullshit."

            "Yes, but it's my word against their 'sources'."

            "Why does no one in the city even know this?"

            "It was made discreetly." Lydia scowled. "Even I was informed later on, when they reassigned me back to patrol duty."

            Vilkas sighed. "So what's the plan?"

            "There's a house near the southern border of The Pale, just west of Blizzard's Rest and north of Loreius Farm. You'll meet a dark elf there by the name of Jenassa. She'll provide you with your disguise and further instructions."

            "Jenassa... from the Drunken Huntsman?"

            Lydia nodded. "She knows Windhelm better than either of us. And if she ask who sent you, tell her... tell her it's her favorite patron." Without further explanation, she opened the door and left.

            Moments later, the rest of the members flocked in from the back door. Vilkas had already stepped out of the kitchen by then, and Tilma thanked him for bringing the supplies.

            He nodded slightly but immediately left, moving past the other Companions towards the stairs leading to the basement. Downstairs, he hurried to his room, but as soon as he passed by the Harbinger's quarters, Kodlak's voice called out, "Vilkas."

            Said warrior halted and briefly, he stared at the door leading to his room. _It'll only be a minute_ , he told himself before, hesitantly, he entered Kodlak's quarters. Stacks of books and parchments littered the table whilst the cabbage potato stew remained untouched and now cold.

            _Tilma will be livid._ Vilkas' gaze shifted to the older Nord whose hand gestured at the chair across his. As he complied, he began, "Master—"

            However, he paused as Kodlak fixed him a stern look. Clearing his throat, Vilkas rephrased his words, "Harbinger, have you eaten anything since this morning?"

            Kodlak side-glanced to the bowl of stew then sighed. "Yes, of course. But first..." He set his quill back in the inkwell. "I've been meaning to speak with you."

            "What about?"

            "You seemed troubled."

            "I'm not—"

            "Lad, you chose punishment duty and chores over jobs for the past five days, and I've raised you long enough to know that this isn't like you."

            "I..." Vilkas paused as his hand reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "I wouldn't call it _troubled_ exactly..." What was he to say? Should he disclose the plan? This wasn't technically an official Companion job, just a personal request.

            Kodlak silently waited as the younger warrior shifted his gaze from the books to the stew to anywhere but his mentor. Finally, when no further explanations followed, the older Nord said, "it's the Dragonborn"

            Vilkas stiffened as his focus returned to the Harbinger. But then, he ought not to be surprised that he would figure it out; as it was pointed out, he and Farkas were practically raised by the older Nord like his own sons.

            _No point in hiding..._ Besides, informing their leader of his whereabouts would be preferable than just leaving a note. Sighing, he nodded. "I... if you'll allow it, I plan to rescue her. Not as a Companion. This is... personal."

            "I thought as much." Kodlak leaned back on his chair. "While reporting that job, you had been elusive when I asked about the Dragonborn — particularly her absence when you've returned."

            Vilkas frowned, his eyes now downcast. Caught lying — by the Harbinger no less; he ought to feel guilty but he didn't — not when he knew what was at stake. "I apologize." He inclined his head forward. "I would've disclosed the matter but... I can't. She— there's been too many risks and sacrifices. If anyone discovered what I plan to do..." _Who else would save her?_

            For a moment, Kodlak studied him then his features softened. "I see... You have my permission then."

            Vilkas' eyes widened then he glanced up and met the older man's gaze. "Thank you."

            Kodlak waved his hand dismissively. "Now, best make your preparations, Daylight will not wait for you."

            Vilkas stood up, more enthusiastically now that he gained permission from the Harbinger, but the latter called out before his hand reached the door, "just one request." When the younger Nord turned, he continued, "once you've returned home, allow me to speak with the Dragonborn."

            Vilkas blinked. "Of course..." _But why?_

            As though reading his thoughts, Kodlak added as his features softened, "I am merely curious about her."

            Vilkas' gut told him there was more to it, but then it could be no more than a chat between two guild leaders or the dragons — probably about the Circle's 'problem' even. Either way, he trusted the Harbinger, and thus, refrained from inquiring further. With a nod, he return to his room and prepared for his next job.

 

** END OF CHAPTER **


	14. Chapter 14

It had been more than a week now since Valere arrived in the City of the Kings. After her meeting with Ulfric, Galmar and Ysarald, her daily routine consisted of checking the blacksmith's progress, enchanting finished weapons and armors, educating the Ulfric's elite soldiers about the do's and don'ts in fighting a dragon.

The first two had been an easy task; the latter though took a bit of... convincing. The Nords in Ulfric's army were generally never fond of elves or magic, and she represented both. While some had set it aside due to her Dragonborn status, others still doubted her; some even outright challenged her to a fight. Well, they never said she couldn't use her Shouts. It was technically Nord magic, but she doubted they would admit that. Suffice it to say, the dissenters begrudgingly accepted taking orders from her just for the purpose of slaying a dragon.

This Middas morning wasn't much different. After eating her morning meal, she threw her hooded fur cloak over her shoulders and stepped out of the room. Outside, a Nord stood straight as he tilted his head forward. "Dragonborn."

"Calder." Valere smiled. "Early as always."

"And you as well, my lady," he replied and followed her as she sauntered towards the stairs.

Ulfric had assigned Calder to her as a personal guard right after their meeting. "For her protection," he had reasoned. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at that. _More like an insurance that I don't run off._

Calder was a pleasant company at least. Amiable enough that they would share stories every now and then, but kept a professional distance that he refrained from asking personal questions. Plus, out of all the people in the palace, he was one of the few who never questioned her whether she was truly the Dragonborn.

The only thing that irked her, albeit mildly, was that his firm stance when it came to Ulfric's orders — specifically, to keep her within the Stone Quarters. The jarl reasoned that the Gray Quarters was dangerous due to an unrest in the area.

 _No need to sugarcoat the situation Ulfric. Your incompetence to rule your own city is actually common knowledge._ She wanted to tell him that. It nearly slipped her tongue had she not restrained herself.

It was during this moments where she couldn't help but miss Vilkas' honesty. The man practically wore his heart on his sleeves. Figuring him out was easier than nobles. He always upheld every value a Nord held dear — loyalty, honor, bravery and honest work. Part of her regretted hiding the real reason for hiring him. Perhaps, he wouldn't have ended up in this whole mess. _He's safe now at least._

Calder suddenly gripped her shoulder, halting her footsteps as well as snapping her out from her thoughts. She then noticed the gathered crowd near the cemetery.

Looking up to her Nord bodyguard, she asked, "what's going on?"

He frowned. "Never mind. The guards can handle this—wait!" She shrugged off his hand then pushed through the crowd.

"My lady," Calder called out and tried to follow her.

When Valere finally managed to get a better view of the scene, she gasped behind a hand covering her mouth. A woman lay dead on the ground with dried blood splattered all over the area. The image of corpses at Fellglow Keep flashed in her mind. Just like those necromancers' experiments, the woman's body had been naked, sliced, some areas skinned and other parts mutilated.

"Hold it right there. Keep your distance!" one of the guards called her out whilst two of her men barred the other on-lookers from getting close to the crime scene.

"Sorry 'bout that." Calder reached for Valere's shoulders and pulled her to the back of the crowd. "My lady, I implore you, refrain from running off. It isn't safe."

She leaned forward and whispered, "it's necroman—mmph!"

Covering her mouth, he pulled her further away from the crowd. Once they were at a safe distance, he lowered his hand and whispered harshly, "are you mad!? Everyone's frightened by these series of murders. Blurting out that necromancy is involved will send every citizen into a state of panic."

"Wait a minute. You mean this isn't the first time?"

"Aye. Two more from last month."

She stared at him incredulously. "And the guards haven't caught anyone yet?"

He shook his head. "The war has them stretched thin—"

"Fuck the war!" Valere snapped, starling some of the folks passing nearby. She took deep breaths whilst Calder smiled apologetically to them. Regaining her composure, she spoke, "could you visit to the blacksmith in my stead? Just check if the remaining armors are ready, then have them delivered to the court wizard's quarters."

Calder blinked. "Where are you going?"

She turned around and marched back to the Palace of the Kings. "To your Jarl."

~oOo~

The Sea Squall slowly cut through the waters as it sailed to the harbor of Windhelm. From the prow, Vilkas saw the fishing trawlers, as well as other mercant ships. Down in the docks, Nord sailors and Argonian dock workers busied themselves with their daily routine, transporting cargoes to the warehouses.

As the ship was moored, he looked around for Jenassa. She stood at the other end of the ship, silently watching the waves. Perhaps sensing his eyes on her, she turned and briefly met his gaze, but then immediately looked away and refrained from making another eye contact.

"While on that ship, pretend you don't know me," had been her last words before they journeyed to Dawnstar few days ago. A sound strategy given the suspicion from the inhabitants of Windhelm. Any hint that he might be a Dunmer sympathizer could limit the information he could gain — some might even be vital.

Vilkas' had met up with Jenassa inside a fairly large house north of Loreius' farm — a place he doubted to be their meeting area at first since he had been expecting something closer to a cottage or an abandoned shack; although one would considered the property as such given the weeds and withering plants at its small garden.

The meeting had started off tense. When he had entered the house, she had been nowhere to be found. He had sniffed for any scent whilst scanning the interior, only to pick up the smell of assorted alchemical ingredients — deathbell and nightshade in particular. The whole house had been dim, its only source of light had come from the small windows above the walls Had it not been for his beastblood, he would have missed the glint of steel arrowhead trained on him from the balcony on the second floor.

"Your favorite patron sent me," he had announced, although his hand instinctively reached for his greatsword's hilt.

Slowly, Jenassa had lowered her bow, although still had expressed her doubt. "I'm surprised Lydia sent _you_ , of all people. The Companions aren't known for their... subtlety."

"This isn't officially Companion business."

"I see..."

Suffice it to say, she had accepted his explanation, and proceeded with the plan. It was simple really — pose as a historian planning to record the events of the civil war in the Stormcloak's perspective all while gathering information on Valere's whereabouts in the palace, as well as her daily routine. At midnight, he would meet her by the docks where he would tell her everything so they could plan their escape properly.

_A simple plan, but rarely anything ever stayed that way._

Vilkas crossed the gangway, and as he surveyed the docks, the scent of deathbell and nightshade no longer lingered in his nostrils. Perhaps it was due to Jenassa already entering the city ahead of him; or perhaps, the smell of sea air and fish overpowered it.

 _This is it._ He sighed deeply before entering the city gates. His first order of business was to go to Candlehearth Hall where he could start his information gathering.

From the gates, he took an alley on the left which — he realized too late — led to the slums of the city. His hand gripped his pack tightly as some dark elves who peered from their windows had their crimson eyes trained on him. The scent of fear was palpable enough that even if he hadn't spotted one who had been standing outside and reached for his dagger, he knew that they saw him as a threat. And without his sword, his fists were his only means to defend himself.

Hence, he hurried his footsteps until he finally exited to the main avenue. However, as soon as he neared the steps leading to the palace, a familiar voice exclaimed, "fuck the war!"

 _Valere!_ His head turned but he couldn't find her anywhere. Just a hooded figure marching back to the Palace of the Kings— wait a minute. He saw a flash of auburn hair and bright green eyes. His feet moved on their own accord, and before he knew what he was doing, his hand grabbed her arm.

Valere's head whipped to face him, her hand raised as lightning crackled on her fingers. Yet when she met his eyes, the spell dissipated. Her brow furrowed as she studied his face.

Did she recognize him? He couldn't say. But, he needed to think quick of a hint. "Why did you give me that Akaviri sword?"

Her brows shot up. "What—"

"You there!" A man shouted.

With his back turned, Vilkas only heard the clunking steel boots approaching him from behind. _Shit._

" _Tiid_!"

One moment he was standing stiffly outside and the next he and Valere were stumbling onto a floor of some run-down building, her body landing on top of his. She sat up and grabbed the front of his tunic. "What in Oblivion are you doing here!? You're supposed to be in Whiterun!"

"Saving your arse, that's what!" He shot back as the beast stirred from its slumber.

"I didn't ask to be saved!"

 _Ungrateful elf!_ The wolf growled as it wrestled for control. _Shut it!_ He mentally yelled but, it proved difficult to ignore, especially since her dismissal of his efforts fueled his anger. He gritted his teeth. "Dammit Valere! I'm putting a lot of things at risk! The least you can do is say thanks!"

"After all the planning I had to pull off just to get you out of Winterhold? And putting you back to your normal lives!?"

"Yes, because you just lost your title!"

Her grip on his tunic loosened as stared wide-eyed. "What?"

Vilkas released a shaky breath before he told her everything that Lydia had disclosed. Once done, the rage in her eyes paled in comparison to even the most rabid beasts of Hircine.

~oOo~

Valere let Vilkas' words sink in. _Someone saw me... and used it to blackmail Jarl Balgruuf._ But what would they gain? It wasn't as if she had enough influence to sway the jarl to join Ulfric's cause. Should she have that power, she would have used it to convinced him in aiding her with the dragon threat instead. Besides, even without her presence in his court, no one would be able to budge him from his neutral stance. Unless... what if swaying him to join a side wasn't the goal? What if it was her? But who would even benefit from—

_Ulfric._

Slowly, she stood up and paced around the room. Her fists clenched and unclenched then slammed one against the wooden post. Her hand throbbed but she couldn't give a damn. " _That lying scheming bastard!_ " She swore in dovazhul then suddenly threw a ball of lightning at the stone wall.

How could she have failed to see this!? He couldn't recruit her in his ranks for the possibility of losing his racist allies, but he needed her away from the Legion. What better way to alienate her than to imply that she had joined the Stormcloaks?

Somewhere in the background, someone might be calling out her name, but whoever it was their pleas fell into deaf ears. All her senses were focused on that beautiful image of ripping Ulfric Stormcloak's head off with her bare hands — of watching his headless corpse burn from her Fire Breath. She could already feel the first Word on her tongue, so close that if she just opened her mouth...

An arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her close against solid chest while the other hand covered her mouth. She protested which came out muffled.

"Quiet," Vilkas whispered harshly as he pulled her towards the darkest corner of the room and pressed closely against the wall.

Her brows knitted together as she side-glanced to him. Briefly, he met her gaze before his eyes flickered towards the window. _What's going on?_ Then her ears picked up the sounds of approaching clunking greaves.

"Where did you hear it?" Calder's voice spoke outside.

"Somewhere around here," another man's voice said.

"All right. Just keep looking. The last thing the jarl needs to hear is the Dragonborn getting abducted."

Valere spotted Calder, accompanied by other soldiers from the window. As they passed by, her entire body had stiffened. What would they do if they find us here? She'd be dragged back to Ulfric, and Vilkas... Would he be imprisoned for abduction? Worse, would Ulfric use him as leverage against her?

"Check the buildings," Calder ordered.

She pressed herself closer to Vilkas once he lowered his hand from her mouth. No, they would have to go through her first. _He's risked his life to save me._ Her hand reached up and splayed her fingers across his chest.

He flinched away. "What are you—"

"Shhhh..." Her fingertips glowed faintly, enveloping his body with her magic. Her other hand touched her chest and did the same to herself. When he started fidgeting, she added, "don't move."

~oOo~

When Vilkas dragged her to one dark corner of the room, he thought she was going bite his hand — at best. Never had he attempted restraining a dragon, but thankfully, she understood the situation after their eyes met. Flickering his gaze back to the window, he poured all of his concentration on the soldiers patrolling outside, his ears straining just to get a good estimate on how close they were.

A small hand touched on his chest, causing him to jump back. With furrowed brows, he glanced down to Valere. "What are you—"

She hushed him as her fingertips pressed on his chest. His heart pounded as a strange invisible blanket began enveloping his body. This was, however, different from his experience from the College. This time, rather than the uncomfortable weight all over one's body, this felt warm, soft and soothing, like from the finest noble clothing.

His shoulders sagged as he closed his eyes. _I can get used to this..._

Soldiers suddenly entered the building. His eyes flew open as one of them waved his torch towards their direction. The soldier who had been holding a torch carefuly approached the corner where he and Valere stood.

_Shit! Shit!_

Yet, he merely stared towards their direction then said, "not here," before moving to the other end of the room.

He blinked. _What just happened?_ When he lowered his gaze, he only realized then that his and Valere's body were transparent. If not for her warm body pressed against his and the mild smell of jazbay grapes, he would have thought that she already left him.

Minutes ticked by before the group of soldiers left. Vilkas waited till he could no longer hear their clanking armor. However, Valere remained clinging onto him. He considered clearing his throat, but a part of him enjoyed this closeness; her small, delicate frame all snuggled against— woah, wait. What was he thinking!? He wanted to slap himself just to snap out of his strange musings.

"I think..." He whispered, his voice strained. "I think they're gone now." The comforting magic enveloping him ebbed away — much to his disappointment — and their skins gradually turned visible again.

Even more to his dismay, Valere stepped away and cautiously peered from the window. "I think so too." She turned her attention back to him. "So what now?"

"Now, I'm taking you back to Whiterun."

"No."

His brows furrowed. "No?" Did he miss something?

She took a deep breath. "I... I can't leave— even if I want to." For a moment, she remained silent whilst pacing around the room, her thumb and forefinger resting under her chin. "I made a deal with Ulfric."

"What sort of deal?" He didn't like where this was going, especially when she provided no answer. "Did you agree to join them?"

"Don't be daft!" She snapped. "He doesn't even want me in his army."

He raised an eyebrow but remained silent. _Did I hit a sore spot?_ Normally, he would be affronted by such words, but curiosity got the better of him. Never had he seen this calm and calculated woman fumed like a caged beast.

"Apologies." She exhaled shakily as her fingers reached under her hood and pushed her hair back. "That was rude of me." She took another deep breath and continued as though she hadn't just lost her composure. "To answer your question, it's more in line with my dragon-slaying profession. The Stormcloak business is merely incidental, though after what you've told me, well... perhaps there's more to it."

"If that's the case, why go through it?"

"Because he made an offer that I'd be a fool to refuse."

"Which is?"

Vilkas met her eyes as she studied at his face quietly. Before he could as why she was staring at her, she answered, "in return for killing the dragon, he will refrain from further threats to anyone associated with me."

He snorted. "You're trusting that he'll keep his word? Ulfric—"

"—has outplayed me," Valere declared as her mask of stoicism slowly crumbled.

Vilkas had never seen an infallible woman like her in such a lost state. A part of him wanted to pull her close and console her — tell her that they will find a way. He almost did but she suddenly turned around.

"I should head back. Ulfric might suspect that I've run away. You and Jenassa should return to Whiterun. Let Lydia know that I'm all right and that I'll return as soon as I'm done here."

She plodded towards the door but halted just as Vilkas announced, "I'll be staying in the Candlehearth Hall. If you need anything, you know where to find me." He didn't know why he kept insisting on staying — she made it clear that she didn't want him there; but, a part of him couldn't let her deal with this problem alone. Why? He didn't know and he would rather not think about it.

"Thank you." Her soft whisper pulled him out of his troubled thoughts. She was looking over her shoulder, her features soft as she gave him a small smile. But he couldn't be certain as she immediately pulled the hood up and after shouting, " _Tild_ ," had disappeared.

**END OF CHAPTER**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi guys. I hope I didn't butcher this chapter. I think I've rewritten this thrice already. Couldn't get the pacing right and I didn't want to make it to sappy. Anyway, my next chapters might take a while since I'll be reviewing for the bar exams starting May. I will try to finish another chapter before the start of my review class, and the next will come after my November exams.


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